


Fling Wide the Whirlwind

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-13
Updated: 2006-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Immortality- it sounds appealing. Not, however, if it's forced on you, you'reObliviatedafterwards, and you're handfasted, realising your partner will grow old without you. **Now complete** vampire!Ron/Harry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

**::THANK YOU::** to the editors who selected this story as Editor's Choice for May. I'm humbled, flattered, and absolutely stunned. Thank you so very much.  


* * *

It was happening again; a prickling, cold cobweb wove around Ron's spine. He was being watched. He loathed it, hated the brazen cowardice of his follower, and didn't dare allow the shudder that coursed through him to show. It was a skill mercilessly bludgeoned into everyone who'd gone into the last battles of the War. Ron wasn't still alive, and wholly intact, for nothing. He would've said something to Harry the first time, if Ron hadn't been second-guessing himself and trying to pass it off as ridiculous over-sensitivity. No one would stalk _him_. This was bloody Glasgow, in ruddy October. Ron irritably ran a hand through his hair, lengthening his stride as he took a roundabout route to a cramped Muggle pub he frequented on Fridays to play pool.

 

Ron lavished his attentions on the games, nothing like chess. The delicious kinetic presence of sliding a cue stick over his thumb, evaluating the angles and watching the balls' trajectories once hit held him enthralled. Over the next couple of hours, he played some regulars who had no idea he was a medi-Wizard in a world they didn't know existed. After several rounds, he called it a night and walked the mile home.

 

"Hey, Harry!" he called into the flat.

 

"Hi! Playing pool?" Harry yelled back from the kitchen, whence a mouth-watering smell of roast mutton emanated.

 

"Yeah. Smells brilliant. You haven't been waiting long, have you?" Ron sauntered into the kitchen, looking worriedly at Harry, his hair its usual shaggy mop of black. Ron had only just started noticing the few shining strands of grey, though Ron felt it only fair. He'd begun seeing silver interlopers in his vivid hair by the age of 29.

 

"No." Harry tilted up his head to receive Ron's kiss, chaste for now. "It's Friday; I don't really expect you until after nine."

 

"Thanks for humouring me." Ron retrieved an ale from their fridge and twisted off the top with a flourish.

 

"I know of ways you can thank me later," Harry said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

 

"I do, too," Ron rumbled into the side of Harry's neck, deeply inhaling the musky scent that never failed to arouse him.

 

Ron devoured their dinner with gusto as the two discussed their days. Harry was coach of the Green Knights Quidditch team, currently in desperate need of a Keeper. Ron worked in the Obscure Hexes division of St. Mungo's, choosing to commute via the Floo network. He and Harry were well settled in their respective routines, and had been handfasted for four years. Though they'd grown up together, had done nearly every conceivable, intimate act together, and Ron had vowed to be upfront about everything with his lover after Harry nearly died from a case of bloodcurdle a few months after Voldemort's demise, Ron found the words about being followed sticking in his throat.

 

"Uh, what would," Ron said hesitantly, before clearing his throat. "Wouldn't you say I was nuts if I told you I thought someone's watching me? Not in a good way, I mean."

 

"No, but I wouldn't mind you being a bit more specific," Harry replied, waving their dishes into the kitchen and casting a cleaning spell on them.

 

"It's nothing, I'm sure," Ron said, going pink at the ears. "It's just every once in a while I get this weird, creepy feeling that someone is, well, stalking me. I don't turn around, of course, and it always goes away. I'm barmy, right?"

 

"You're practically an Auror, Ron," Harry said thoughtfully, getting two tumblers and pouring them each some Oban. "It's not inconceivable that some disgruntled former Death Eater is shooting daggers at you. Metaphorically."

 

"Pretty bloody unlikely," Ron mused, taking a swig of the potent scotch.

 

A sheepish smile curled on Harry's lips. "Well, of the two of us, I'm a bit better known. Just keep alert, eh?" He fanned his fingers against Ron's chest, beginning to tease Ron's nipples through the fabric of his shirt. Ron emitted a low moan of pleasure. "Constant vigilance, all that. I'm counting on spending a nice long lifetime with you. And having lots of sex."

 

"Sounds brilliant," Ron agreed, arching into Harry's touch. "Let's get naked."

 

It wasn't Grand Passion every time they got together, far from it; he and Harry had been together a long time and some occasions were sex for sex's sake. Tonight, however, Ron felt especially tender toward his bondmate, wanting to take things slowly, savouring the sensation of Harry easing around his cock, the sometimes unbearable homecoming Ron felt, pushing deep into the clenching heat of Harry's body.

 

They disrobed in comfortable silence until Ron decided he'd like some music. Pointing his wand at the modified Muggle CD player, the first song of a compilation he'd made began playing. He and Harry eased onto the bed, Harry leaning into Ron to claim Ron's lips and mouth for his own.

 

"I wouldn't blame anyone for keeping an eye on you," Harry said, his voice husky and wanting. "There are days I can't stand the thought of getting out of bed and leaving you."

 

"You know I'm yours, every last freckle," Ron promised, reveling in their familiar erotic dance. Harry's callused fingers slowly stroked Ron's stiffening shaft as Ron quit talking to lure Harry's tongue into his mouth. They kissed deeply and thoroughly, rolling sideways so Ron had better access to Harry's erection. He entwined his fingers in Harry's coarse black thatch of curls, fingering the soft sacs below and earning a needy groan from Harry. 

 

"Where's the lube?" Harry asked, panting a bit as he pulled away, his face flushed and his hypnotising green eyes lidded.

 

"Slow down," Ron pleaded, kissing a trail to Harry's ear, gnawing on the earlobe as though he were famished and Harry a succulent feast. "I want you in my mouth. 'S'alright?"

 

"Oh yeah." Harry rocked his hips against Ron's for emphasis as Ron swirled his tongue in Harry's ear. "Merlin, Ron, you're so sexy."

 

"No, just your horny spouse who's going to make you come at least twice." 

 

Harry's desirous groans ratcheted up a level and Ron smiled, fisting Harry's jerking cock.

 

"Love you," Harry murmured against Ron's temple, agreeably lying on his back as Ron gently pushed him over. After lavishing attention to Harry's tawny nipples with tongue and fingers, Ron positioned himself, crouched over Harry's lap. 

 

"Love you too," Ron said, looking Harry full in the face before swallowing the hard cock nearly to the root.

 

"Nnnnnngh," Harry breathed, undulating against the bedcovers and thrusting into Ron's mouth. Ron prided himself on his blowjobs, and he loved ministering to Harry's body this way, sucking and licking the smooth flesh. He brought Harry to the brink twice, listening to Harry's burbled pleadings and lauds before finally taking pity on him. He sped up his movements, using his tongue against the pulsing vein as the head of Harry's cock tapped arhythmically against Ron's palate.

 

"Ron — gonna come, gods, gonna…" Harry's voice became a mewl of pleasure, a torrent of sensual sound that sent a flash of heat to Ron's empathetic cock.

 

"Mmmmmmm," Ron said finally, releasing Harry's spent penis with a satisfied smile. "You taste amazing."

 

"You feel amazing," Harry said. Ron cherished the sight Harry made: sprawled bonelessly, flushed from his orgasm and sated. "Can I suck you now?" Harry asked, languidly rising to his elbows.

 

"No." Ron ignored Harry's put-upon pout as he rummaged through a drawer of their bedside table to get their lubricant. "Because I'm about to stretch you open and get you so wide and wanting you'll beg for me to fuck you."

 

Harry's gaze roved down to Ron's cock, which Ron was coating with the sage-infused unguent that was Ron's favourite. "You're fucking incredible, you are."

 

"Right. Flattery will get you everywhere, and tonight, it'll get you buggered until you're hoarse from yelling."

 

The lustful look of Harry's expression told Ron that this had been the right decision. On occasion they were rough with each other; brutal, nearly. Most often a joined hand job did the business, or pedestrian sex with Ron taking Harry from behind. This, tonight, was proper lovemaking, and Ron basked in the masculine, heady scent hovering around them, a lust-infused haze of affection and raw eroticism.

 

"So beautiful, Harry," Ron said throatily, circling a slicked finger around Harry's entrance. Harry closed his eyes as he sank against a pillow, spreading his legs apart as far as he could in the sockets of his narrow hips. "So decadent, and greedy for me," he crooned, sliding two fingers into Harry's heat.

 

"Yes," Harry sighed, the sibilant positively indecent as it issued from his lips. "I'm greedy. Want you in me, so deep, Ron, your cock splitting me, only you."

 

Ron ached all over; the frustrated need in his glistening, ignored erection was nearly unbearable. He took his time insinuating a third finger, ruthlessly brushing Harry's prostate with each scissor of his fingers and tugging on his own balls in an attempt to get himself under control. He was thirty-one, not seventeen, but his libido hadn't slowed down as much as he'd thought it might. He pushed further into the clenching channel, anticipating how liberating it would feel once his cock was inside. Ron would see the look of adoration Harry gave when Ron was fully sheathed, and relish the prickling of short curls against his abdomen.

 

"Now?" Ron asked, crooking his fingers to massage and widen Harry's innermost depths.

 

"Yes, please, oh fuck pleaseplease fuck me," Harry begged, his rosy, reviving cock tapping his thigh as he writhed on the bed. 

 

Ron gently withdrew his fingers before adding another healthy dollop of lubricant to his throbbing erection. "All mine," he breathed, pushing into the taut muscles with deliberate care.

 

"Yours."

 

Ron leaned over, kissing Harry possessively before pushing back up on his hands. Harry wrapped his legs around Ron's waist and Ron began slow, knowing thrusts, the friction painfully exquisite around his cock. He kept his gaze locked on Harry's face, on the intense expression there, Harry's eyes closed in concentration. There were small laugh lines around his mouth, a detail Ron hadn't ever dared hope to see. His thrusts became less deliberate, more primal and erratic.

 

"Love — making — love — to — you —" Ron gasped, his balls slapping against Harry's body. Harry savagely fisted himself, hips jutting to meet Ron and take him as far as he could.

 

"More!" Harry growled, trying to bury Ron further into his body. "Gods Ron, love you, always you, so good."

 

As Harry's second orgasm spilled over his frantic hand, the molten tension collecting in Ron's spine sent tingling sparks shooting to his groin. The edge rushed to meet him and Ron shattered against it, his release pouring out of him in pulsing currents. Eventually the world rebuilt itself around him; his breathing slowed and he opened his eyes to see Harry's rapturous face, mouth open wide and chest still heaving. Ron lowered himself down, spreading himself on Harry and moving Harry's hand away from the sticky mess on his stomach. The shifting caused Ron's softening cock to pull out of Harry, who made a soft sound of lament.

 

"That was unbelievable," Harry said at last, once they'd cleaned themselves up and Ron held Harry close against him.

 

"You inspire me," Ron said simply, carding his fingers through the sweaty hair at Harry's forehead, the few silver strands catching the light from the candles across the room.

 

They lay quietly until Ron's insistent bladder forced him off to the toilet. Once he'd relieved himself, Ron let Harry in and they brushed their teeth, not needing to say anything in the quiet of their nighttime ablutions. Back in bed, Ron drifted off, holding Harry's arm to his chest, utterly spent.

 

* * * * * 

 

Four days later, Ron felt the presence again. Just before walking into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He shook his head in frustration, before clasping his hands against the back of his head as though to block the view of whomever it was looking at him.

 

_You're daft,_ he thought to himself. _See? Already gone away._ Ron felt chilled, a residual shadowy unease in his blood that was incongruous with the chaos fostered in the twins' shop. He made it a point to visit every couple of weeks simply to keep up with their newest creations— which were usually even more ingenious, far-fetched and successful than what they'd most recently produced. After a quick survey of the new products, Ron took his leave, promising that he'd bring Harry next time. Fred and George were working up an adult line, which made Ron more than a bit queasy (and intrigued, but he'd die first before admitting it to them), but he tried to be a good sport about it.

 

"I'll bring him, but we're not testing any of your prototypes. Don't even think about it!" he threatened, waving off their knowing grins as he went back out into the dark, busy cobblestone street of Knockturn Alley. A massive clock atop The Natty Haberdasher tolled seven, coinciding with a rumbling in Ron's stomach.

 

"Hungry?"

 

The voice lingered sensually over the syllables, spoken like liquid silk into his ear. Shocked suddenly into action, Ron attempted to do several things at once: go for his wand, jab his shoulder into the intruder behind him, and breathe. He failed abysmally. 

 

"None of that, my precious one," the voice continued as Ron began to struggle. He realised the man behind him had not only taken his wand, but he had to be pretty bloody strong as Ron was no lightweight. "Let's go where we can have more privacy." The words poured over Ron, sensuous and malevolent. 

 

"What?!" Ron yelled, his heart beating at frantic speed as the unmistakable feeling of Apparition claimed him.

 

With a _crack!_ , Ron found himself still held tightly by his attacker, in an unremarkable environment made all the more horrifying given his situation. They were in one of the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. 

 

"Who the fuck are you?" Ron roared, jerking back his head in the hopes of breaking the man's nose.

 

"So feisty, my firebrand." The voice was both compelling and frightening, sliding over Ron like slick oil as he desperately wriggled to free himself. Using inhuman strength and wandless magic, a plush chair glided into the middle of the room and Ron was turned and placed in it. He gaped as he saw his assailant for the first time, snapping back to attentive fury as the man used his wand. He muttered a spell and cords shot out of the ends, binding Ron's wrists and legs to the chair.

 

"What the bloody fuck are you doing?!" Ron's vision was a red haze of anger and panic. He'd never seen anything like what he was currently facing, and his rational mind screamed at him that it couldn't be. These creatures had all been disbanded and exiled during the War cleanup. "Let me go! Why the fuck do you have me here?" He strained futilely against his bonds until he was out of breath and panting from terror and exertion. 

 

The svelte wizard merely watched him, a smile playing on his full lips. Quite despite himself, Ron was held in thrall by the man's graceful, preternatural movements. At last he spoke again, the unearthly beauty of his voice causing Ron's blood to freeze and his breath to become even more erratic. 

 

"I've had my eye on you for some time, my firebrand."

 

Ron hated the word, however the creature meant it. "I'm not yours, you, you—" He stumbled on the word, unwilling to speak it and make it truth.

 

"Vampire. Yes," he said, raising his pale eyebrows and appraising Ron with a look of approval.

 

"We broke up the covens," Ron said furiously, attempting to convince himself as much as anything else. "You lot are supposed to keep to yourselves," he spat, his arm muscles jutting as he resumed his pointless struggle. "Holding me is illegal!"

 

"Come, come, Ronald Bilius," the blond vampire said reprovingly, raising his wand to place it under Ron's chin, forcing him to tilt up his head. The vampire ran his pink tongue under his front teeth before closing his mouth and devouring Ron with a feral gaze. "Do I even resemble any of that _lot_ you and others in the Ministry scattered like crows across a vast sky? Do tell me." The wand caressed Ron's skin, stopping at his jugular. Ron stiffened, sitting as still as possible despite the fact that every self-preservation alarm in his body was jolting, demanding that he run.

 

"No."

 

A pleased look graced the handsome features of the vampire wizard. "Quite right. I'm far older than any of those rag-tag infants who went scuttling to Voldemort like vermin running from light." He sniffed in disdain. "As for this being illegal, well, yes. I suppose it is."

 

Ron's heart palpitations eased slightly. He tried not to look into the vampire's eyes for long; a niggling, heretofore useless bit of Dark Creatures study had flared into memory and he thought vampires might have some kind of vision-induced Occlumency that was best left alone. Even a hasty glance revealed eyes a shimmering hazel colour, golden-green and unnaturally clear.

 

"What I'm going to do to you goes far beyond illegal, however." A blazing, wicked smile burst on the vampire's face, making his beauty all the more diabolical. "I won't be slaying you, either."

 

"No! No! You can't make me like you! Oh fuck, no, you utter bastard, let me go! Let ME FUCKING GO!!!" 

 

Ron yelled at the top of his lungs, already starting to go hoarse. He pleaded, and begged; swore and ranted; he made extravagant promises and threatened curses until his voice was nothing more than a shredded, painful scrape of sound. The vampire simply watched from his perch on the four-poster bed, a bemused, statue-like specimen of the undead. He waited until Ron could no longer speak. Ron's clothes were soaked with sweat, his face stained with the tracks of tears which had fallen as the terror of what was going to happen vanquished his hope for rescue.

 

"Why?" he asked finally, the words a whispered threnody. "I'm just a Weasley."

 

As though taking pity on him, the vampire walked over and cradled Ron's head in his hands, running his thumbs under Ron's eyes where new tears of anguish slowly trailed down his freckled cheeks.

 

"You're exquisite, my fiery beloved," the vampire replied in a voice that rang with passion and power. "You're strong, and gifted, with a willful temperament. You are handsome— no, beautiful. Your russet hair drew me to you. It's been several ages since I've wanted to share this gift with another."

 

"But I don't want it," Ron insisted, sniffling as his battered psyche threatened to slip into madness.

 

"Yes, more's the pity." Cool, long fingers smoothed Ron's hair back from his face. He felt soft, dry lips brush his eyelids. "But I have decided, and thus it shall be."

 

"I don't even know your name," Ron said, his gravelly voice cracking as shudders of fear wracked his body. This was far worse than anything he'd experienced in the War; never had he felt so helpless, and alone. 

 

"Never you mind that." The voice was soothing in its dismissal. "Just relax, my sinfully hot-blooded one."

 

Ron gasped in shock when the fangs pierced his neck. Everything became sluggish and there was a roaring in his ears. Certain that he was losing his sanity as the blood was taken from him, with detached surprise Ron felt arousal in his groin, an erotic pulse thundering through him even as he grew fainter and fainter. He was dying, surely.

 

"Harry," Ron choked out as an encroaching black dominated his vision.

 

"Feed," the vampire commanded.

 

Ron's head lolled. He was so very thirsty, and the scent of the blood offered to him more intoxicating and luscious than anything he'd ever smelled. He steeled himself against it, against the vibrant, succulent aroma wafting up to him. Ron leaned toward the blood before his rational mind screamed at him to stop. His body was shrieking at him to drink, but in agony, he forced himself back. Better to die.

 

"No," Ron whimpered.

 

"Feed."

 

Pants of air burst out of Ron and his heart battered against his ribs, attempting escape.

 

"No."

 

The room spun. Ron's lungs ached; his tongue was a thick slab in his parched mouth. An irritated sigh. 

 

"So stubborn." A swish of cloth. _"Imperio."_

Ron was a marionette, unable to fight the manipulative magic. When the first drops reached his throat he moaned. The blood was hot and alive, sizzling along his palate, making him desperate for more. But this was wrong, so wrong. The blood was liquid velvet, throbbing in him with an intensity of a thunderstorm seconds away from erupting, splitting open the sky. Ron was feasting now, ravenous and aching, licking and swallowing, vicious, voracious—

 

A tired, irregular chuckle as the wrist was pulled away. Ron felt a dribble at the corner of his mouth and wiped his face on his shoulder. As he looked up, the pale vampire met his gaze, holding up his wrist so Ron could watch in amazement as the puncture wounds drew together and healed, leaving no mark. 

 

"What have you done to me?" Ron said through a sob, his belly roiling with the blood and adrenaline. Dread shattered every move, a million pinpricks overwhelmed by a tolling drone in his head Ron at last recognised as his own pulse.

 

"I must leave you now," the vampire said softly, ignoring the question as he planted an arc of tender kisses on Ron's forehead.

 

"You can't!" Ron wailed. His body was changing, turning into a loathsome creature, not-Ron, inescapable, and thrumming with alien power. "Harry, oh Merlin, Harry, so lost," he murmured, swinging his head back and forth above his chest.

 

"Harry will come for you," the vampire promised. "Drink this, now," he entreated, holding an exquisite glass vial to Ron’s lips.

 

"Shouldn’t," Ron said weakly, but the liquid was being poured into his mouth. It had healing qualities to it, he could tell by its particular herbal qualities.

 

"This will put your mind at rest and ease the discomfort of your transformation." He moved away, his extravagant robes swirling behind him. "As the ages pass, I will seek you out, always keeping you from harm if I am able. You won't remember me, however. I don't wish for you to spend your time looking for me when you should be doing so much else, emblazoning the nights with your unique abilities."

 

The vampire raised his wand, and, horror-stricken, Ron's eyes bulged from their sockets. "Please, no!" Ron begged, panic again rising in his chest like churning seas, drowning him. "I didn't want this! Don't take away my mem—"

 

_"Obliviate."_


	2. Chapter 2

A comforting, warm scent settled around Ron, as though he were adrift in cozy affection. He lay drowsily, content to lazily see-saw on the cusp of fully waking or sinking back to sleep. A niggling disruptive element hovered on the fringe of Ron’s consciousness, but the more he pursued it, the further it escaped. He let out a slight frustrated huff and began to turn on his side, planning to snuggle next to Harry.

He couldn’t move.

All at once Ron’s breathing became a frenzied pant. His eyes flew open and he yanked against the restraints on his wrists.

"Ron! Oh, thank Merlin, Ron! Calm down, it’s okay, it’s okay." Harry’s words were soothing nonsense. A trick, perhaps. Ron jerked his head to look up into Harry’s face, his partner's expression frightfully compassionate. Ron noticed on the dark smudges under Harry’s eyes, trying to gauge any hidden messages in the tired green depths. 

"Why am I tied up?" Ron asked. His mind was a fecund jungle of possible scenarios, growing ever darker and terrible as the seconds passed. Snapping into Healer mode, he took a lightening quick self-assessment and found it unlikely that he was dying; however, he'd been known to be wrong before. In truth, he felt overly alert, as though he'd taken an overdose of Pepper-up potion. Harry remained silent, not bothering to mask his troubled thoughts. "Harry," Ron pleaded. "Tell me straight. If you love me, you will."

Ron became mesmerised by the deep breaths Harry took, captivated by his lover's ribcage widening and contracting, nearly undone by the beauty of the rhythmic movement. 

"You've been turned into a vampire. I don't know why, or how. Well, I mean, I know _how_ , technically, but there's not been one damn lead from the scroll I got…" Harry's weary voice gave out.

"I'm a vampire," Ron repeated, forcing his mouth to say the words, despite how ludicrous they sounded.

Harry nodded, eyes burning. He looked all the world as though he were about to crawl over the bedrail and bury himself in Ron's skin, warming him, reassuring him that everything was going to be all right.

Except that it wasn't.

"But," Ron faltered, "I was at Wheezes! It's the last thing I remember!"

"That's something," Harry said encouragingly, his hand slipping gently into Ron's chilled palm. "I didn't get frantic until after one a.m. or so; you know I don't make it a habit to worry overmuch but it wasn't like you not to check in, and I felt something was really off."

The throb of Harry's pulse next to Ron's lashed at Ron. Harry's skin branded him as the blood seemed to sing, coursing through Harry's veins. Ron was overwhelmed by its seductive pull, and he grimaced.

"What is it?" Harry squeezed Ron's hand, trying to provide comfort.

Ron braced against the onslaught of scented and tactile cacophony. "It's you," he muttered, clenching his eyes shut. "Your pulse. Your blood. FUCK!" He tried to throw off Harry's hand, but his wrist was magically bound to the bedrail. Grudgingly, Harry let go. 

"Must've had my memories erased," Ron said to himself as a horrible thought struck him. "I can't work now, can I? CAN I?" he bellowed, heedless of the scene he might be causing. He railed against the restraints, furious and abandoned and wanting Harry somehow to rescue him from his fate more than anything else in the world. A relentless ringing in his ears held Ron's focus in the ensuing silence. His heart thudded dully in his chest, and he realised he was so very, very thirsty.

Harry ran his hands through Ron's hair, tenderly rubbing his scalp. "Are you thirsty?" he asked softly, as though reading Ron's mind. Perhaps he had. "They thought you would be when you came to."

"Like you wouldn't believe," Ron said, feeling guilty at the bitterness in his voice. It wasn't Harry's fault this had happened.

Harry nodded quickly. He went across the room and opened a cabinet, retrieving a St. Mungo's standard issue goblet with a flame on the side. The intoxicating odour was unmistakable; Ron's nose twitched and he opened his lips, running his parched tongue along his teeth. He felt at the foreign fangs while Harry sat back down. Harry pushed a button and the bed frame moved, allowing Ron to sit up.

"Are you going to watch?" Ron asked, suddenly nauseous at the prospect, even though he was desperate to drink. He didn't care whose blood it was. He needed it. His veins and muscles were screaming for it. But Harry would probably get sick.

"Of course." Harry sounded insulted. He freed Ron's wrists and Ron took the steaming chalice. Unbidden, he groaned with relief as he drained the contents. It was duly satisfying, though Ron found he had to close his eyes, unable to look at the dark red liquid. There were different, foreign aspects to himself now, and the remaining sliver of human-Ron wasn't ready to bear what he was doing, especially in front of Harry. The blood was fortifying, though it seemed oddly flat. How could he think that when he'd never had any other blood before? Of course; whoever had done this to him, he'd had his blood. Or hers. Then he'd been _Obliviated_. Fucking cowardly bastard, whoever it was.

Ron handed the goblet back to Harry and waited for the restraints to be imposed again. 

"I don't think you'll need them, now that you've fed," Harry said, trying to be matter-of-fact, but Ron knew him far too well not to notice the uncomfortable, nervous movements. Ron couldn't blame him. Harry ran a finger against the corner of Ron's lips before putting the digit in his mouth, concentrating as he did. A frisson of lust inexplicably coursed through Ron as Harry sampled the drop.

_I am so fucked,_ he groaned to himself. "Harry." The word was a plea. He found himself the sole focus of Harry's attentions, and Harry took his hand again. This time his body's reaction was more subtle as Ron wasn't nearly so desperate for blood. "What's going to happen to me?"

There was a silence, and Ron could tell Harry was warring with himself. "Do you think I'd be okay to get in the bed with you?" Harry asked earnestly. "I've been doing heaps of reading, as you might imagine, but mostly I'd feel better if I could lie next to you."

Ron merely blinked at him. "Of course. Oh. No, I don't guess I'm going to suddenly pin you down and suck all of the blood out of you. I'm fine for now, I think. Merlin, this is so morbid," he moaned. "Why? Why me? I'm not special, or famous." His emotions were stampeding him, and he was afraid he might start crying at any second. Ron was embarrassed at how grateful he was when Harry shucked his trainers and crawled up next to him. Ron buried his face against Harry's shoulder, hoping that by breathing in the reassuring, familiar Harry-scent, his feelings would be reined in. It was almost too much. Ron's senses were far more acute than they had been; he smelled the piney soap Harry used, the dash of cologne and his musky body heat, but now he noticed the tangy, rich scent of Harry's blood coursing under his skin. Ron also sensed a citrussy relief that poured off of Harry in waves, tinged with fear.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked worriedly. Ron guessed he'd tensed up at the onslaught of aromas, known and new, jangling along his preternatural nerves.

"Yeah. Just a lot to get used to. I don't feel quite myself," he said into the crook of Harry's neck with a sarcastic snort.

"Ron, listen to me," Harry said, using his 'I slayed Voldemort at age seventeen; you'd best pay attention to what I have to say' voice. Ron nodded. Harry could say anything as long as Ron was allowed to stay wrapped against Harry's warm body, humming with whole new levels of Harry qualities about which Ron was evermore aware.

"The scroll sent to me that told me where to find you has been analysed by some blokes in the Parchment Division, but they've still got a few tests to run. We don't know who did this to you, or why. Obviously this vampire is also a Wizard, just a shade shy of utter bastard because he — or she — contacted me. You'd been right that you were being followed, Ron. I can't tell you how horrible I felt that I wasn't with you to help."

"I was in the middle of Diagon Alley," Ron said, his voice muffled. "If nobody else noticed, you might not've either. Besides, he or she was obviously tracking me and planned to get me while alone."

"True," Harry conceded. "It's just been so unbelievable. First I thought you'd been kidnapped, or killed, then I got this note and of course I got Tonks to go with me because it could've been a trap, and there you were, thank Merlin. But," Harry paused, rubbing his hand soothingly down Ron's spine, "you've been Changed. You've already — died, Ron." The words stumbled awkwardly on Harry's tongue.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut until phantom stars danced against the blackness. He whimpered, and Harry pulled him even closer, as though to absorb some of the inconceivable horror to which Ron was trying to reconcile himself.

"Your family knows, and they're coping as best they can. As you can imagine, Bill's been especially empathetic. While I'll admit I never cared before, I'm about to get very involved in what I've discovered are criminally arcane Dark Creature laws. Thanks to me rushing you here, your new status can't be kept a secret. Once you're up to it, you'll have to go to the Vampire Registry. But you won't go alone."

Ron let out a deep sigh. It was still all too much for him. Harry was making sense, but despite his recent chalice full of blood, heightened senses, and fangs which had subsided after he'd drunk, Ron was unwilling to believe it. He'd wake up any minute now and tell Harry about this unbelievably detailed dream he’d had, and Harry would suggest he not eat an entire bag of Salamander Savouries right before bed.

"I'm afraid you can't work at present, part of the laws Hermione is going to help me begin writing statements against. There are blood solutions we can buy, though they're relatively expensive. It's shameful how little research has been done in regards to vampires and Wizards. Most vampires are like the ones we dealt with during and after the War; practically squibs who'd been Turned by other vampires in isolated areas, terrorising Muggles. There are precious few cases of full-fledged, normal Witches or Wizards who've been made into vampires. You're actually a bit of a celebrity."

"Utter fucking shite, that is," Ron huffed miserably.

"Not to worry; I'm not letting Rita Skeeter anywhere near you. What else? Well, I have heaps of books that I think you'll want to read, eventually. The truth is, though, you're going to have to discover just how much you've changed as it occurs. You can't go out during the day; everything I've read says that's a part of the condition."

"Condition? I'm a freak. I don't suppose anyone's near to a cure for this, are they?" Ron raised his head, imploring Harry with his gaze. "Can't Snape come up with something like Wolfsbane? Or Neville! He's won all sorts of honours for his work in regenerative poultices and stuff with those Mimbulus mimbletonia plants. I've even used them once or twice."

Harry slowly shook his head. "Vampirism is as permanent as becoming a werewolf. There do seem to be one or two positives, though."

Ron's face darkened. "Positives? About this? Now's not exactly the time for jokes."

"I'm not joking. Fuck, Ron, this is pretty unbearable for me, too! But I'm not leaving you. We'll just have to make some adjustments. You'll forgive me for trying to find something remotely pleasant about all this."

Ron gave Harry a hard look, his anger at his situation still simmering just under the surface. It wasn't Harry's fault, but Ron found it difficult not to lash out, and Harry was right there. "Okay. What?"

A ghost of a smile played on Harry's lips. "It's supposed to be really erotic when a vampire drinks from you."

Ron's eyes grew wide and he got up on an elbow. "You don't think I'm going to do that — take from you? I could hurt you! And it's such a bloody stereotype." He winced at the accidental pun.

"C'mon. I'm powerful and you know it. We've done kinkier stuff than that." A genuine smile warmed his face and Ron couldn't resist being captivated.

"Actually, I think this _would_ be by far the kinkiest thing we've ever done."

"This from the man who convinced me to make a replica of my cock so you could suck me off and be buggered by me at the same time?"

"I wanted it because you were travelling so much," Ron insisted, grateful for the banter even if it was humiliating and only a distraction. "Besides, when it came down to it, I reckon you thought the idea was hotter than I did."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "So you say. Back to the subject. I'd like for you to try drinking from me. And no, not just because it might make me cream my pants as though I were sixteen." His expression grew serious. "This is our reality now. If there's one possible avenue of pleasure, why not explore it?"

"Harry. I'm in hospital. Where, up until," he gestured vaguely at himself, suddenly shocked as he realised his freckles had faded into his now porcelain skin, "this happened, I was a Healer. We could get walked in on. More importantly, I don't know what might happen." He leaned over the short space until their foreheads touched. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I won't let you," Harry promised, turning his head so his neck was inches from Ron's mouth. "Just taste," he said breathlessly.   
  


"Get your wand first," Ron said, his voice a warning. He wasn't fool enough to try something this daft without Harry being able to defend himself if need be. "For the record, I'm in probably the worst emotional place I've ever known, aside from when I thought you were going to die."

Harry cradled Ron's face in his hands, the wood of his wand tickling the hair behind Ron's ear. "I'm not trying to use you. But we are handfasted, and in some of what I've read, this might actually deepen our binding."

"It's too much," Ron moaned, though the call of Harry's blood washed through him. Each heartbeat was a pulse of desire and aching, inexorable craving. He did want to know how Harry tasted, but Ron was so afraid he'd be overcome, that he'd do something unforgivable and by accident.

"I have my wand," Harry reminded him. "Better to find out now, at the beginning." 

"Are you sure?" Ron searched Harry's face for any sign of doubt, but there was none. Harry nodded gravely. 

_Hell's harpies dancing on Merlin's hairy balls,_ Ron swore to himself before allowing his new instincts to take over. He darted out his tongue to lap along the thick vein running along Harry's neck. Clutching Harry's shoulder, he focused on a triangle of freckles below Harry's jaw, and leaned in. Ron's heart raced frantically in anticipation until his fangs pierced the surprisingly pliant flesh. He didn't bite very far; somehow he knew how to angle his mouth so the blood flowed across his tongue in a languorous stream. 

It was euphoria. 

The flavour was nothing like what St. Mungo's had put in the goblet. Harry's blood sparked with light and ecstasy, rich and heady, flooding Ron with liquid heat that captured Harry's passion and strength. Nothing could have prepared Ron for this; sex paled to a sterile pastime in comparison. Harry's blood was zinging through him; he felt more tender love for Harry than he'd believed himself capable.

Gently he extracted his fangs, licking at the puncture wounds, gratified to see that they weren't gaping holes.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, his voice nearly unrecognisable, it was so husky and lush. He sounded like he did after an evening of intense shagging. Harry didn't reply, but he shifted so he could face Ron. "Harry?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Oh Ron," Harry said, sinking back against the pillow. "That was incredible." His eyes were shut, an expression of innocent bliss caressing his features.

"I didn't take too much?" His fangs were bumping against his lower lip, which Ron found irritating. He willed them to retract and was both surprised and pleased when they did.

"Don't think so. I feel fine. Brilliant. I love you," he gushed, opening his eyes. Ron marveled at such contentedness reflected in the luminous green. "More than ever."

Despite Harry's heartfelt declaration, Ron became queasy. "You're not _glad_ that I'm a vampire?" he clarified. He knew he should've trusted his instincts. He'd shared too much, far too early; he was impetuous and too easily swayed by Harry's persuasion.

"No, no," Harry insisted, pulling Ron to him so they were touching from their chests to their feet. Ron was dimly unsurprised to feel Harry’s burgeoning erection against his thigh. "Of course I'm not glad. But at least you're alive, and now we have that…" he said, voice trailing off. "I don't know how you felt, but it was so sensual and raw. It was communion. I'd never felt so close to you before, and you know that's saying something." 

Ron nodded, absorbed by the rapture in Harry's voice. "I'm pants at describing things, you know," Ron said, and Harry grinned. "Your blood, though — it was like liquid, rich, firewhiskey fudge. No, that's not even close. I'll try again later." He screwed up his face in exasperation. "Look. I'm grateful that you're here, and told me what happened. I think I'm glad you let me drink from you."

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself but Ron kept going. "This is _huge,_ Harry. I'm going to need some time alone to get used to it. Merlin knows how much time _with_ you I'll need, too. Because this is insane! One minute I was visiting Wheezes, and next I'm waking up in St. Mungo's being told I'm a vampire, a fucking Dark Creature, and then we're doing — that. I was sucking blood out of you, Harry. None of it's right. And I don't even have my memories to know how it happened. What if I didn't put up a fight?" 

He began shivering, but with his anger back in force, he resented Harry's attempts to placate him.

"I'd venture you gave a huge struggle," Harry said reassuringly. "Whoever it was must've been very powerful. You can be quite intimidating, you know."

Ron grunted in response.

"I'll be checking in on the parchment analysis and Hermione's doing some research into known older Wizard vampires who might be possible to track down."

"Does it matter?"

"Does what matter?" Harry rubbed his cheek against the crown of Ron's head.

"The vampire. I don't think I care. Wouldn't change anything." Ron was a cornucopia of conflicting feelings, all enhanced by Harry's blood. He really needed some time alone, to try and begin reconciling himself to his new, unasked-for reality.

"You're had two days of the like I can't even imagine," Harry said soothingly, again seeming to tap straight into Ron's mind. "I'll let the Healers know you're up and have had the blood. They don't need to know about the extra."

Ron glanced at Harry's neck. "You'd better pull your collar up, then."

Harry did, almost shyly. "I expect they'll want to check up on you straight away, but hopefully after that you'll be left alone for a little while."

"I could just go home with you," Ron suggested fervently as Harry got out of the bed. "I'm fine. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you."

"You've been conscious less than an hour," Harry said, shaking his head. "I couldn't forgive myself if I snuck you out of here, only for you to have some horrible reaction and be in convulsions or something."

When phrased like that, Ron was forced to agree.

"I'll make sure you're released as soon as possible," Harry said fiercely. "I still have some pull around here." He leaned down to press a kiss on Ron's forehead before cupping Ron's jaw in his hand. "You up for visitors?"

"Bollocks, no," Ron said with a shudder. "Just tell Mum I'll come by the Burrow when I get out."

"I will. No matter what you are now, you're still my Ron."

Ron felt his heart stumble over its beat. Harry was so optimistic, in spite of everything; it was a quality Ron had hoped would rub off on him, though it had yet to occur. "I sure hope so. I think I'd go mad if I had to go through this without you."

Harry clasped his hand and gave Ron a brief smile. "Never."

Much later, after his former co-workers had made their rounds and Ron felt a pull to sleep brought on by the impending sunrise, he allowed himself to shed the bitter, angry tears that refused to be held in any longer. When he'd cried himself dry, he curled up in a ball, pulled the covers over his head, and sank into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Five weeks later Ron's mood had only darkened. He had all the free time he could viciously never want, and even his usual favourite pastimes couldn't rouse his spirits. Harry encouraged him to use the Green Knights' pitch at night when they weren't practising, but after establishing just how fast he could turn and spin with his enhanced capabilities, Ron found himself averse to flying. Even Harry's awestruck expression after Ron had effortlessly performed the most difficult feints and manoeuvers didn't make Ron feel any better. Dutifully he'd read the piles of books Harry, Hermione, and even his mum had given him. He'd gleaned a startling illumination or two, but mostly Ron had to agree with Remus' comment to him, spoken with wry pain: "Reading the details of our kind of life is nothing compared to experiencing it in the flesh."

He was stronger. His skin healed incredibly quickly, but he still found it unnerving that his freckles had nearly vanished. He seemed to see emotions hover around people, and they manifested themselves with unique scents. And blood… the sexsavoury aroma of Harry's especially hit him like a lascivious, blinding wall. Ron had figured out the only way to keep from practically howling and tearing into Harry's neck when Harry came home was for Harry to firecall him in advance, giving Ron notice enough so he could drink the bland, woefully unsatisfying Ministry-approved blood concentrate. It fed his hunger, nothing more. The only thing that tugged Ron from his ennui was feasting on Harry. Harry insisted he didn't mind; quite the opposite. Ron despaired sometimes that Harry craved it as much as he did, the mesmerising intimacy of Harry giving, and Ron receiving. He hoped desperately that after a while things would settle down, that they’d hang out, talk Quidditch, Ron would work on his sketching, they’d go to the pub and meet Seamus or Neville, the things they used to do.

Now, though, Ron brooded, staring at the dancing flames in the sitting room fireplace. Mindlessly he drank a firewhiskey even though it didn’t do anything for him. It was all through blood now; a week ago Harry’d gotten a bit pissed before Ron drank from him and Ron felt a familiar buzz as the hot liquid went down his throat and was absorbed into his body. Ron was as of yet unable to give up the trappings of being human. He couldn’t stand to eat much of anything, though, and he discovered a new aversion to beverages even as innocuous as pumpkin juice. Holding the firewhiskey bottle was comforting, somehow, an echo of the normal life he’d had before. He glanced over at the glowing clock next to the bookcase, which read twelve to one. Harry’d gone to get ready for bed; he’d begun staying up later, trying to adjust to Ron’s necessarily nocturnal hours. So many changes…

"Ron?"

Ron looked back over his shoulder to see Harry standing in the doorway. His pyjama top was open, revealing an enticing trail of black hair, and the bottoms were precariously low on his hips. "Yes?"

"Do you think we might —" Harry swung his hips slowly side to side, bracing his hands against the doorjambs, his muscled arms silhouetted against the dark. He leaned his head to one side with a sultry smile, tempting Ron by posing like one of the buff blokes in the porn mags they'd bought on occasion in the past. 

For the first time since he’d been Turned, Ron didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. He’d felt so abhorrent about himself, body included, that aside from cuddling, which he welcomed with uncharacteristic fervour, he’d not been able even to consider other intimate acts, drinking from Harry notwithstanding. Shagging seemed dangerous, and not in a sexy way. He was afraid that if he got overly excited he’d feast on Harry and drink too much. Or he wouldn’t be able to control his fangs and during a passionate kiss he’d put a hole in Harry’s tongue or something else atrocious. Worst, he feared a killing instinct that hadn’t yet manifested in him would surge out. So he'd been celibate, feeling guilty and offering to help Harry out with his hands, but Harry said he'd rather wait. Apparently he'd had enough.

"Ron," Harry beseeched, drawing out the word as though it were a singular incantation. "I miss you. Please."

Not waiting for a response, Harry strode across the room and collapsed camel-like to sit on his heels, situating himself between Ron's legs. "I miss you," he said again, laying his head on Ron's knee. He paused, a look of hurt flashing across his features before he looked directly at Ron. "Do you still fancy me? Did that change?"

Ron felt like an utter cad. "No! Of course not, never," Ron stammered. "I just don't want to hurt you. And it's not as though any of these books have been manuals. No helpful 'So Now You're A Vampire' bits to them, or 'Blowjobs with Fangs- How to Provide Pleasure Without Puncture.'

A few seconds passed before Harry burst out laughing.

"'S'not funny," Ron insisted, although the look of relief on Harry's face made him feel far less wretched than he had.

"No, I know it's not," Harry replied, snorting back a laughed hiccough. "You've been thinking about it too much. It's not like you."

"Harry, _I'm_ not like me. I'm inhuman," Ron said morosely.

"You're still Ron, aren't you?" Harry challenged softly, running his thumbs up the inside of Ron's denim-clad thighs so that Ron gave a shudder of delight. "You are to me," he continued, sitting up and rubbing his cheek against Ron's flies, breathing hotly over Ron's wakening erection.

"I sure hope so, but I'm rather a fucking mess."

Harry nodded. "Let me," he said, cupping Ron's arousal through his jeans.

"Where's your wand?" Ron asked, shocked and a bit saddened to realise his brain was working in spite of the sound of Harry's promising voice cascading over him. "I want to know you can defend yourself if need be."

Harry turned up his face, his expression containing both promise and understanding. "I'll get it. Don't move. No, I take that back. Get undressed."

Ron gave Harry a skeptical look. "You're giving me orders?"

"Suggestions." An optimistic smile graced Harry's lips. 

Moments later they lay naked in front of the fireplace on a blanket, Ron still agitated, glancing at Harry's wand.

"Merlin, Ron, it's me, Harry. Just like back and think of England."

Ron was baffled as how to respond to that. "We're in Scotland, you know."

"Let me touch you," Harry breathed, ignoring him. "I love you, Ron. I miss your body, your kisses. You won't hurt me, you wouldn't, not unless I asked you to." Harry's affection and determination rolled off of him, a reassuring peaty odour now discernable to Ron's senses. "You're fucking gorgeous, you are," Harry went on, searing Ron with a predatory gaze, perched above Ron on hands and knees. "So pale, so strong, so mine," he whispered, the last word exhaled into Ron's open mouth.

Ron swallowed it, sucking Harry's tongue into the cavern of his mouth before their tongues slid and lapped against each other. Ron moaned, drowning in sensations he hadn't realised he'd sorely missed. Harry rocked his hips into Ron's groin, their cocks rubbing together. Ron loved the feel of the soft skin over the hard shaft, Harry's sturdy weight on his chest as Harry intertwined their hands over Ron's head. For a time all Ron could articulate was a litany of groans and _Harry_ s, tightening his buttocks and thrusting up his hips to get more friction while Harry licked and kissed Ron's face, neck and ears. When the hot, slick tongue delved into Ron's sensitive ear, jolts of desire raced to his cock and settled like coals in his tender sacs. Ron was inflamed with the need to possess Harry, to taste and smell his mate. He was so caught up in his passionate whirlwind, it took him a moment to decipher the look in Harry's eyes after he'd rolled them over.

It was fear, quickly turning to surprise.

"I think you're a bit stronger than you used to be," Harry said, his baritone voice husky. He writhed under Ron in an obvious attempt to keep Ron in the mood.

Ron paused. It hadn't taken any effort to push Harry over, and while Harry was slighter than Ron by a fair amount, he was still quite strong. What might happen if Ron wasn't able to keep himself in check? He looked into Harry's flushed face, his vibrant eyes imploring that Ron take him. Harry had missed their intimacies; it was painfully apparent how randy and pent up he was. 

"Ron," Harry begged, picking up on Ron's conflicted emotions. "I'm not worried. You feel so good. Want you so much," he said, wrapping his legs around Ron's thighs so Ron let out a ragged moan. "Want you in me, to make love to me and fuck me so I'm sore, thinking about you every time I straddle my Skyrunner, want your cock filling me up, want you to fuck my mouth, want —"

"You know what dirty chat like that does to me," Ron said helplessly, grazing his teeth down Harry's neck, mortified when he felt his fangs lengthen. He paused, regaining a semblance of control over himself, before continuing to map Harry's body with kisses and small bites. He fastened his lips on a hardened nipple, circling the nub with his tongue and tugging on it with his teeth as Harry panted and bucked. He alternated focusing on one side and the other, taking a deep breath under the hollow of Harry's arm before wrenching himself away to get his wand.

He cast a cleansing spell on Harry and himself for good measure, returning to Harry's wanton form, feet planted on the floor and legs splayed. With his heightened senses it was simply _more_ — the musky, masculine earthy scent was nearly visible to him; Harry's adoration and lust a swirling haze Ron felt prickling against his skin. He didn't feel different to himself, thank Merlin. Harry gazed at him, taking his own cock in hand, pulling on it slowly. Ron was overcome by Harry's male-ness: the lightly muscled chest, the trail of curled hair stretching invitingly to Harry's groin, the strong legs with fine black strands, all seeming to point straight to the phallic center of his body. 

Harry began fisting himself with more speed. "See something you like?"

"Most definitely," Ron said, surprised at the fuller timbre to his voice. He ran his tongue along his teeth, establishing that his sharp eyeteeth weren't in the way while pulling a pillow off the couch. Harry lifted his pelvis and Ron slid it under him. He wanted full access to Harry and was pleased to hear Harry's anticipatory hiss when Ron lowered to the floor, kissing up the inside of Harry's thigh. He sent out his tongue to swirl around the dry, furred pucker of Harry's entrance. Harry made a wounded, keening sound, clenching and relaxing his muscles as Ron nuzzled his nose under Harry's soft balls. 

He showed no mercy, easing his tongue in and out of the tight channel, licking around the inside while Harry chanted loving obscenities that only made Ron harder. He thrust his tongue inside the tangy, heated muscles, occasionally changing tactics, drawing in one of Harry's sacs and suckling on it. 

"Ron, so close," Harry warned with a gasp.

"Not yet." Ron made a last foray into Harry's loosened hole before getting up on his knees. "Your body's amazing. I love that you let me do that."

"I think I should be thanking you," Harry said, his expression slightly dazed. "How're you, anyway?"  
  


"I seem to be doing okay." Ron rubbed his thumb under one of his mostly recessed fangs. "Merlin, do I want to be inside you."

"Gods, I thought you'd never say so," Harry said heatedly. "However you want me. Wherever."

"Couch," Ron growled, leaning over to swipe a drop of pearly liquid off of the head of Harry's cock. "Want you to stand behind it and hold on."

Ron thought Harry's eyes might roll back into his head. "You're so hot," Harry breathed, scrabbling up to seated position before clutching Ron's jaw to pull him in for a savage kiss. Ron grabbed their lubricant and carefully coated his cock. He was overly sensitive and wanted to feel Harry around him for at least a little while, not come as soon as he entered him. Harry stood, legs apart, his hands braced on the back of their couch. He was breathing heavily, a tear of sweat sliding down his throat, cock jutting up from the thicket of black curls.

"Harry, you _are_ sex," Ron said with a sigh, sliding up behind him. He traced the several scars on Harry's back with his tongue, using his lubricated fingers to stretch Harry open. Harry pushed back against Ron's hand, arching his back and emitting mewling noises each time Ron brushed past his prostate. Once he was sure Harry was well prepared, he took his heavy, pale cock in hand and placed it at Harry's entrance. He felt Harry relax as he pushed in, letting out a long, blissful moan as the tight muscles accommodated his girth. Ron savoured the sensations, but soon he needed more, needed to move. 

"Oh, yeah, fuck, you feel amazing," Harry said hoarsely, rutting the couch as Ron picked up his pace, holding Harry's narrow hipbones. "Love your big cock in my arse."

Ron's vision blurred for a moment, his body overcome by the combination of clenching heat around his erection and Harry's porn star-worthy commentary. He started thrusting into Harry in earnest, moving one hand to circle around Harry's slick cock, the other placed next to Harry's, holding on to the couch for balance. Harry stood straighter, pressing his back against Ron's chest, entangling their fingers and using his other hand to grab behind him at Ron's arsecheek. He tilted his head up, and Ron could see him biting down on his lower lip as he rocked his pelvis, meeting Ron's thrusts with as much force as he could. 

"Fuck, Harry, so good," Ron rasped against Harry's salty skin. The inexorable urge to claim Harry overwhelmed him; he had to feed and taste the succulent rich blood in his mouth. The sound of their skin slapping together and Harry's mounting punctuated grunts pushed Ron over the edge. With a snarl, he fastened his lips on the side of Harry's throat and pierced him, his release flooding out of him as the blood shot into his mouth.

Harry howled in pleasure, jerking violently as his orgasm exploded out of his cock, the viscous fluid dripping in white pools on the abused furniture and sliding down Ron's fingers. Ron drank, joined to Harry's pulse as his heart thundered with exertion. The blood was rapturous, thick and briny and _Harry_. Ron was buried in the heat of Harry's body, just as Harry's life essence rushed over his tongue.

With a start, Ron released his vicelike grip on the couch, carefully removing his fangs from Harry's flesh. "Harry," he said worriedly, afraid he'd taken too much, being undone by the combination of sex and feeding.

"I'm fine, Ron, brilliant," Harry said, though he hung his head as though he were dizzy. "That was pretty intense."

"Here, let's go lie down," Ron said in a manner frighteningly like his mother. Ever so gently he pulled out of Harry and they walked to the blanket on the floor. After a quick _Scourgify_ Ron lay on his back, Harry nestled half next to him, half on him. "So you're really okay?" he asked Harry, who nodded slowly.

"A bit sore, and maybe a bit peaky, but it was definitely worth it," Harry reassured him, looking up at Ron with a sated, warm smile. "You? Think you'll trust yourself now?"

Ron drew circles lightly on Harry's back. "Dunno. Seems relatively safe to shag. I doubt it'll be like that every time. I wasn't paying attention to how much I drank, though, and that scared the piss out of me." 

Harry nuzzled Ron's collarbone. "If I thought I was going to pass out, I'd jab you in the ribs or something really obvious."

"You'd better. I just don't know enough about this, yet. For all I know, the first few months could be a trial period, making me think things aren't all that different, then, wham! I'll be desperate to hunt people and suck them dry." Tendrils of panic began weaving into Ron's imagination. "There must be a reason vampires are Dark Creatures, Harry." 

"Ron. Look at me." Harry was up on an elbow, cupping Ron's face in his hand. "Stop being morbid. We don't know that you aren't totally different than regular vampires." He stifled a yawn. "Please try not to let your wild thoughts get the best of you tonight. Think about the ruddy brilliant sex we had and that we can look forward to more. I've got to get to bed, though."

"I'd like to stay with you until you fall asleep."

"All right, but it won't be long."

They padded off to the bedroom, where, true to his word, Harry gave Ron a good night kiss, sprawled out on his side of the bed, and was asleep within minutes.

Ron sat, his thoughts churning until nearly dawn. Careful not to rouse Harry, he went into the lonely chamber they'd created that was impervious to light, and was pulled into slumber before the sun rose.


	4. Chapter 4

"Just one last question," Rita Skeeter said, her oozing false confidentiality making Ron nauseous. If Hermione hadn't convinced him that having this interview could be the linchpin in securing a modification to the Wizarding Employment Codification Act of 1917, he would never have agreed to this farce. Ron had never wanted to join Harry in his publicity; he was quite content to be Harry's undergirding and stay well away from cameras and the press.

"Fine," Ron said, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

"How does it feel to be — immortal?" Rita's lurid red lips drew out the syllables.

"What?" Ron spat, caught off-guard by the question.

"Well, you know," she backpedaled, regaining her composure and patting at her perfect coiffure. "Wizards live far longer than Muggles, but vampires are immortal, unless burned, stake through the heart, what have you," she said, gesturing at his ribcage. "You'll outlive Harry by countless lifetimes." 

Ron sat, stunned into deathly silence. It wasn't that he hadn't _read_ that, hadn't catalogued the few things that would actually kill him beyond the Unforgivables that no-one these days was likely to cast. He hadn't yet internalised that reality, however, and the blatant, unfathomable _wrongness_ of it suddenly loomed over him like a monstrous wave about to drag him under.

"I need to go," he said through gritted teeth, storming out of the studio while Rita gaped after him, dicta-quill trembling in his wake. Fury raged in him, cresting tumults that propelled his feet as he began running. Heedless of the few pedestrians, Ron pounded the footpath, his speed far beyond that of the mortals out of doors on this chilly London night.

_Mortals._ He practically flew, sprinting with preternatural speed toward a Muggle landmark he recognised, Big Ben. _Fuck Muggles,_ he seethed. _Fuck all of it._ He wasn't supposed to outlive Harry, especially not by 'countless lifetimes.' Rita Skeeter's words seared themselves on Ron's soul, if he even still had one anymore.

_Fuck, fuck, Merlin bloody FUCK!!_

He was less surprised than he should have been when he comprehended he was halfway up the clock tower. The Ministry would be all over his faded-freckled arse for laws he'd broken; in his dress robes, running impossibly fast past Muggles without so much as a 'beg pardon,' and now he'd climbed up a rather noticeable monument. It was dark, though; Ron hadn't noticed any gasps at his ascent, but then again, he'd cast a modified silencing charm on himself as otherwise, with his heightened faculties, the world was deafening. An outcropping beckoned him to pause his pursuit up the tower. Ron pulled himself up and stood on the ledge, looking sightlessly at the teeming lights spread below him like terranean Wildfire Whiz-Bangs.

Ron was defeated, subsumed by forever. Nicholas Flamel had nothing on him, now. The startling, old memory of Hermione discovering the link to the Philosopher's Stone barreled into Ron's mind and with a cry, he beat his fist against the unforgiving stone.

"Don't want this!" he roared, the multitude sounds of the city swallowing his words. He could taste his misery, a smoky bitterness that permeated his mouth. What was the point in Ron being the way he was, and why now? Now, when he and Harry had been doing so well, had an established, satisfying life together. How could he bear to watch Harry grow older while Ron stayed the same? It was unbearable; it would drive Ron raving mad, he knew it. He stood before a yawning maw of darkness, this eternity as a vampire, watching his friends and family cycle through the years as he remained outside, unchanging and quite potentially a murderer. If he ever found the vampire that had performed this evil act, Ron knew he'd do his damndest to kill him. 

Underneath the ire and melancholy, bloodlust throbbed in him. He'd had his evening blood solution before the gruesome interview, but it remained flat and lifeless compared to what he got from Harry. He couldn't bear the thought of returning home in his current state, pouncing on Harry as though he were nothing but a vessel to slake Ron's grotesque thirst. He was a vampire, and he supposed that would never change; he was a monster supposed to prey on people. Perhaps tonight, right now, he would slip into the darkness and feed on a stranger. Given his despairing, yet feverish state of mind, he found the prospect of drinking from an unknown Muggle exciting, titillating, even. Ron had no intentions of draining anybody to the point of death, but he could sample a couple of victims. He had his wand, so he could _Obliviate_ and use a healing charm to cover his tracks.

Adrenaline careened along his nerves as he descended to the ground, keenly focused on his surroundings. He walked lightly away from Westminster Palace, staying in the shadows as much as he could. Lurking near an alley, he bided his time, waiting for a solo pedestrian to walk past without other people in the vicinity. At last the opportunity arose, and he tackled an unsuspecting middle-aged businessman, subduing him with surprising ease.

"Take my money!" the man gasped, fear stamped on his face. "Just don't hurt me!"

"It's not your money I want," Ron said in a low voice, and the man stiffened. Ron had pushed him chest-first against the filthy wall, clasping his arms around him as he struggled. The man was in a near-panic, babbling about money and obviously afraid that Ron was going to sexually abuse him. Ron leaned into him, closing his eyes at the familiar yet unique scent of blood under his skin. "This won't hurt. Much," Ron crooned before licking the man's neck and biting into it with a sigh.

The man yelled in shock, then wilted in the cage of Ron's arms. "Oh my god," he moaned as Ron savoured the metallic rush of blood, so vibrant and luscious. He feasted for a short time, taking no more than a pint or two, he guessed. As Ron drew away, lapping at some oozing drops, the businessman sagged forward, knocking his head against the wall. "Oh my god," he repeated dazedly. Ron wanted to avoid any theatrics; quickly he let go of the man, whipped out his wand, healed and _Obliviated_ him. Ron pushed him back toward the footpath where the man stumbled and nearly fell, before looking around in confusion and going unsteadily on his way, muttering to himself. 

"That went reasonably well," Ron said under his breath. He was deliciously warm, a side-effect of the fresh blood circulating around his body. For a few moments he used his Healer training to analyse himself, to see if he felt different having drunk from someone other than Harry. There had been none of the erotic enmeshing that accompanied his prior feedings, but that didn't seem unexpected. The act was sensual, regardless; putting his lips on someone else's skin, suckling the flesh and drawing the hot liquid into his mouth was an intimate act regardless of the person. He hadn't felt any kind of kinship or solidarity with the businessman, no outpouring of affection. Then again, this was only the first non-Harry feasting he'd tried. In all likelihood, his intuition would prove correct: with Harry, their deep emotional bonds were somehow woven into Harry's essence, his succulent blood included, and no one else would ever compare. 

Blood was Ron's sustenance, both food and drink intermingled. He had to have it, or… well, he wasn't fully sure, and he knew he didn't want to find out. The experience with the nameless, helpless Muggle _had_ been a rush, a disturbingly satisfying force of will that left Ron with one glowing thought:

**_More._**

Before he Apparated to their flat at a little past midnight, Ron had drunk from four other London Muggles. He was perhaps unnecessarily paranoid about not being seen, but given that he was undeniably registered as a Dark Creature within the Wizarding world, he erred on the side of caution. He sampled as wide a selection of people as he could, three women and another man, of varying races and ages. Ron began to thrill to the anticipation, inhaling their fear and bargaining pleas with nearly the same fervour as he sucked their blood into his mouth.

Ron felt vibrant and tantalysingly dangerous when, with a _crack!_ , he appeared in the entrance hall. He shook out his robes and hung them up, pausing to look at himself in the framed mirror he normally avoided. He gaped at his reflection; he looked like himself again, pre-vampire Ron. Even his horrid freckles were back in force, though his eyes still contained an inexplicable shine to them, as though lit from a source far within himself.

"Ron?" Harry's voice, edged with relief carried from the living room. "Where in Hades have you been? Oh. Wow." Harry lingered on the last word as Ron walked into the room and perched on the edge of the couch. "You look different."

"I look human again," Ron said smugly, glancing down at the back of his hands, no longer resembling marble.

"What did you do?" Harry asked. Ron knew Harry's thought patterns well enough to be sure Harry had already honed in on the answer. Multiple expressions shifted across Harry’s face, combining to one of grave concern. "There aren’t any dead Muggles or Wizards I should know about, are there?" he asked, gaze unflinching.

"No. But there could’ve been."

Ron watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, studied the way Harry picked at a hangnail.

"Look Harry, I didn’t take much from them. I feel _alive_ again. Not only that, I found out I can climb walls. Without even really thinking about it, and no real effort, I got halfway up Big Ben," Ron said excitedly as he dropped down next to Harry.

Harry groaned. "You climbed up Big Ben? Shite, Ron, what possessed you to do that?"

The memory of hearing _"countless lifetimes"_ taunted Ron in Rita’s nasal voice.

"Interview," he said brusquely, not yet wanting to talk about it. "Can we go fly, or something? Let’s go to that cottage on Tiree."

"You want to go out there? Now?" Harry asked, incredulous. "It’s half past midnight!"

"It’s Friday," Ron reminded him. "You can sleep in. C’mon, this is the first time since I was Changed that I’ve wanted to do anything."

His enthusiastic pleading worked. The scowl on Harry’s face metamorphosed into a genuine smile. "That’s the truth. I’ll need a few minutes to get ready to go anywhere," he said, gesturing at this bathrobe. "I could stand to eat something, too."

"I’ll make it," Ron said, bounding up and rushing to the kitchen. He’d been seized by an unbearable certainty that once Harry fully absorbed what their lives would be like, with Ron unchanging while Harry aged, he’d decide they should part ways. It would be for the best. Ron hated it, but believed it, though it would splinter him if it happened now; his heart would fracture into countless grieving shards, wounding everyone around him. Merlin only knew what retribution he’d wreak on the world.

Ruthlessly he pounded the thoughts far away from the present moment. After Harry ate a sandwich and crisps, they hefted their brooms and Apparated to an isolated rustic cabin at Sandaig that had once belonged to the Black family. For hours through the night they flew over the grasses and empty beaches. They drank from the bottle of Firewhiskey Ron had thoughtfully brought for Harry, and Harry filled him in on the latest gossip. Ron even suggested that they meet up with Seamus and Malfoy; an odd couple, to be sure, but the War had changed all sorts of people. 

While Harry watched, eyebrows raised, Ron handily went up the side of the house and traipsed around the roof. On instinct, he jumped down, discovering that he could slow his descent much like landing a broom. 

"That's certainly not a sight I ever expected to see," Harry pronounced, and Ron saw misapprehension flicker in Harry's eyes. It vanished as Harry yawned. "This's been brilliant, but I'm about to keel over," he said, insinuating his arm around Ron's waist. "Unlike some people, I worked all day."

It wasn't funny, but it was an attempt at normalcy, and Ron appreciated that. "Let's go home," he concurred.

They gathered their few belongings and Apparated back to Glasgow. Ron puttered around while he and Harry readied themselves for bed. This was perhaps the most awful aspect of becoming a vampire — he now slept alone. It wasn't as though he'd ever woken up during the day since the Change, but both settling in and waking up by himself were profoundly wounding.

"Hey Ron?" Harry called from the bathroom.

"Yeah?"

"I'll probably sleep much of the day myself, thanks to you keeping me up all night. D'you think I could stay with you? I'll cast a darkening charm when I leave and be extra careful, promise."

Within seconds Ron was in the doorway, certain his gratitude radiated from him. "You're using Legilimency on me, aren't you?" he said severely before stepping behind Harry to enfold him in a crushing hug.

"'M'not," Harry said, defending himself with a wan smile, turning in Ron's arms to face him. "Contrary to the way you act sometimes, you're not the only one suffering. It took me a long while to get used to sharing a bed with you, but I did. I loathe that it doesn't constantly smell like us anymore."

"Come join me in my lair." Ron attempted the joke as Harry rolled his eyes.

"You'll need far more black leather in your wardrobe if you're going to pull that off," Harry said, nuzzling into Ron's neck. "Not that that's a bad idea, mind you."

"Sorry. You know I'm utter shite at saying what I really feel." Ron splayed his hands against the small of Harry's back. 

"I know. Love you anyway," Harry said with a sigh. "Always did, I suppose."

Tightness gripped Ron's heart. Harry really was trying to accept all of this; in fact, he was being far less immature and maudlin than Ron. All the more reason for Harry to want to move on.

"Why don't you transfigure the bed so it's bigger and I'll meet you there in a sec," Ron suggested, kissing the top of Harry's ear before pulling away. He pulled on his nightshirt, disappointed but unsurprised to see his skin was back to 'normal,' nearly porcelain.

Harry had put a lit candle near the unadorned bed and was under the covers on the side nearest the door. "Just warming up the sheets," he said tiredly, though his gaze turned appreciative when Ron slid in next to him. "You were spectacular, your flying. So powerful on your broom. Can give a bloke ideas, especially when not so tired."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Ron murmured against Harry's temple, running his hand down Harry's back and across his hip to cup his quiescent cock and sacs.

"Too tired," Harry yawned. 

Ron grudgingly accepted the decline, but he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into Harry's open mouth. Languorously they kissed, their tongues cartographers of beloved, well-known lands. Harry pressed the tip of his against Ron's nearly recessed fangs.

"Sexy," he murmured against Ron's lips.

"They're demented," Ron said, nipping Harry's lower lip. "Love you."

"You too."

Dawn must have been fast approaching; Ron had only a few moments to savour Harry's warm body pressed against his before he was rudely drawn into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

At the sound of the exam room door opening, Ron looked up from his Quidditch magazine.  
  
"Hullo, Hyacinth," he said informally. He'd been curious as to which specialist they'd send, and was both pleased and perturbed that it was a colleague he liked.  
  
"Hi Ron. You're looking well." There had been a slight catch between her last two words, but Ron couldn't blame her. He looked a fair sight different than the last time they'd shared a night shift.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
She approached him and perched on the examination table, her legs elegantly crossed at the ankles.  
  
"You're looking fine yourself," Ron added as she worried her bottom lip before breaking into a smile.  
  
"It's good to see you," she said earnestly, clutching her parchment pad to her chest. "I know we didn't work together that often, but your presence is certainly missed."  
  
Ron felt a faint heat at that, though he was sure it didn't show. "That's rubbish," he said with a grin, twisting the magazine into a tube in his hands. "You just miss having a fellow Cannons supporter on the staff. That and my lemon pie."  
  
She let out a dramatic sigh. "Too right. No one's picked up the slack and we've been surprise-dessertless for weeks now. Shame, that."  
  
They held each others' gaze for a few moments until Hyacinth's face shadowed. "How are you, honestly? I listened to that ridiculous Skeeter interview," she scowled. "I've never been a fan, but her needling was unnecessarily personal. I wanted you to tell the manipulative twat to get stuffed, though that wouldn't have helped."  
  
"Such language! I'm shocked!" Ron exclaimed in mock disbelief. "I appreciate your saying so. It was pretty dismal," he said as Hyacinth nodded sympathetically.  
  
"Well, I'm on your side, though the leaders that be seem unwilling to even give you a try."  
  
Ron tilted his head, a wan smile on his face. "I am a vampire. Probably not the best to have around as a Healer anymore. Is that my chart?" he asked, changing the subject as he pointed at a blue folder peeking behind Hyacinth's parchment.  
  
"Yeah. You want to look at it?"  
  
"If you don't mind. I was so desperate to get out after this first happened I couldn't be bothered, but now I'm curious."  
  
She extracted the folder and handed it to him, busying herself at a cabinet as Ron scanned the summary pages.  
  
"Pissing poltergeists," he muttered. "Well, this explains a few things." Hyacinth turned, a standard-issue exam robe in her hands. "My ambric suffusion's rather skewed."  
  
"I'll scan it again today, but yes, I've never seen anything like it. It must've affected your magic," she said, her honey-coloured eyes flitting down Ron's form.  
  
"Yeah." He took the proffered robe as Hyacinth politely turned around. "The interview got me pretty riled up, and my mind sort of shut off. Before I knew it, I'd climbed halfway up Big Ben." She gasped, but didn't turn around while Ron got undressed and shrugged on the specialised garment. "Some of my physical abilities have increased. Oh — I'm decent."  
  
He handed back the folder after she'd turned to face him. "Well, having that much ambric energy is bound to enhance your kinetic skills," she said, her tone more businesslike. She gestured to the table.  
  
For the next half hour, Hyacinth examined Ron's magic with a battery of tests. He heard all of the pronouncements since she spoke aloud, her charmed quill writing down each result. Finally he was dressed again, leaning against the countertop while she added summary comments to the long scroll of numbers and observations. At last she put the stack down.  
  
"And?" Ron asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh please — you know exactly what I did. You're an incredibly powerful wizard, Ron. Physically you couldn't be better."  
  
"Except that I'm undead," he said sardonically. Hyacinth cringed, and Rom immediately regretted being so crass, even if it was true. "Sorry. Sense of humour's a little dark."  
  
"Understandable." She shrugged. "May I ask you a question? Non-healer?"  
  
Ron noticed as she nervously picked under a long, magenta fingernail. "Sure."  
  
"Is it just myth, how it feels to have a vampire, you know?"  
  
Ron groaned. "Not you, too."  
  
"You don't have to answer. My apologies," she said hastily, neatening the pile of parchments. "Merlin, that was unforgivably rude."  
  
"Hyacinth." Ron put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Really." He looked down at her embarrassed expression. " _Really._ It's not as though vampires are walking down the street and you can ask them heaps of questions. Frankly, I wish there were, sometimes."  
  
Hyacinth made a relieved snort. "I've no doubt."  
  
"Look," Ron went on, surprisingly unselfconscious. "Harry seems to enjoy it when I drink from him, but we're handfasted, y'know. I'm pretty certain that makes a difference." As much as he trusted Hyacinth, he wasn't about to tell her about his exploratory rampage from the week prior. "If you're really curious…" He let his willingness hang unspoken in the air.  
  
Her eyes grew wide. "Would you?" she breathed. "I don't mean to be a perv, and not to take advantage like you're some freak —"  
  
"I am. You're curious. If you're willing to trust me, you can find out what it's like. But you've got to promise me you won't tell anyone."  
  
Vehemently she shook her head. "Never."  
  
 _I can't believe I'm doing this,_ Ron thought. The offer was tempting; his instincts couldn't deny it. In truth, he was grateful; he'd craved more blood than he was willing to take from Harry. When he'd stalked strangers, a line had been crossed, one inexorably and forever behind him. His glance flickered toward the door.  
  
"Oh. Of course." With a flick of her wand, the door was locked.  
  
"You sure?" Ron asked a final time.  
  
Hyacinth nodded, opening her Healer's robes so he had access to her olive-coloured skin. Before he'd even set his lips to her neck she'd closed her eyes, holding her breath.  
  
"Ohhhhhhhh."  
  
A rapturous sigh drifted from her mouth as Ron fed. Her blood was rich and invigorating, with spicy overtones that undoubtedly had to do with her steady diet of Indian food. Ron sucked gently, holding her to him as she swooned. He didn't take much, licking tenderly at the small punctures before casting a healing spell. Heavy-lidded, Hyacinth turned her head up to gaze at him.  
  
"Well?" Ron asked slyly.  
  
"Myth seems to be true," she murmured, licking under her top lip and feeling at the healed wounds.  
  
"You won't tell —"  
  
"No. I swear." Daintily she stepped away, pulling her heavy black plait in front of her shoulder. "Thank you," she said, recovering her professional demeanour. "Guess I should walk you out."  
  
Ron nodded, quickly taking stock of himself in a mirror over the sink. His freckles were still faint; he hadn't drunk nearly enough for an untrained eye to notice the difference. "It was good to see you," he said as they made their way down the mostly-empty corridors.  
  
"You too. I'll hope to see you back working soon." She gave Ron a quick squeeze around the waist.  
  
"Don't hold your breath."  
  
With a nod to the Witch at the reception area, Ron went out into the London night. It wasn't quite eleven. He picked up a few things Harry had requested before walking home from the nearest Apparating point. The scent of the raw steak he'd bought seemed overly potent, probably because he'd fed unexpectedly and his body was clamoring for more.  
  
"Oi Ron, how'd it go?" Harry asked once Ron was in the flat.  
  
"Not bad." Ron went to their kitchen and began putting away the groceries. He licked at the blood-sodden paper around the meat without even thinking of what he was doing.  
  
"You've fed," Harry accused, looking at Ron with an expression so foreign it took Ron several seconds to recognise it.  
  
"I didn't plan to," Ron said defensively. "And you're jealous! Why?"  
  
Harry's mouth twisted to one side, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's," he struggled, choosing his words carefully. "It's _intimate._ I know you were furious before and trying things out when you had the Muggles. I guess I'd hoped you'd only want to feed on me. That it was _our_ experience. Just ours. Like sex."  
  
Ron pursed his lips. "I'm sorry," he said after a pause. "Hyacinth asked. I was surprised, but I am a vampire. And she's as curious as anyone else. I trust her to keep it to herself."  
  
"I just wish you wouldn't," Harry reiterated, pulling Ron to him. "You can take more from me. I'm taking all kinds of iron and protein supplements—"  
  
"I know!" Ron interrupted. "I don't want you acting like a living food source for me. It's almost better with other people. Less guilt."  
  
A defiant, hurt expression settled on Harry's features.  
  
"Let's not fight about it right now, okay?" Ron ran his fingers down Harry's back. "I was wondering if you'd be interested…" He squeezed Harry's backside.  
  
"You just want to distract me," Harry said, his keen gaze boring into Ron.  
  
"No. Well, I did, but I'm also sorry. I didn't realise how much it meant to you." For the second time in an hour, Ron felt miserable. "You're better about this than I am."  
  
Harry accepted the compliment graciously. "Thank you. I don't think I've read anything to help me cope with my bondmate being a vampire. But I'm used to improvising, and you mean the world to me."  
  
"Thank Merlin," Ron rumbled. "I want to be taken, want you to control me. I listened to Hyacinth's auralic assessments and I know my magic's changed, but I'm still pretty sure it's not equal to yours. Even if it were, I'd submit myself to you. If you'll let me."  
  
Harry pushed his groin against Ron's. "I'll take charge, and make you do what I want. Sounds as though you feel the need to be punished. That you feel guilty."  
  
"I've never meant to hurt you," Ron said, his head bowed into Harry's fragrant hair. "Never thought anyone would be jealous of me."  
  
"I'll just have to remind you whose you are," Harry said in a voice that commanded respect. " _Mine._ Now get in our bedroom and kneel on the bed, after you've taken off your clothes. And your watch. All I want to see on you is your handfasting band." In contrast to his strict demands, Harry placed a soft kiss on Ron's lips. "Put that dildo of my cock on your pillow, too," he added before stepping away from Ron and waving an arm toward the stairs.  
  
Ron swallowed through his constricted throat, already turned on as he knew he would be. A heated, buzzing excitement made Ron squirm as he went up the stairs, his cock already straining against his trousers. He resisted touching himself as he rummaged through his sock drawer, retrieving the dildo Harry had told him to put on the bed. He was achingly hard, with butterflies in his stomach as he mused about just what Harry might do. As he undressed, he wondered what had possessed him to say what he had. It was true; he wanted to be submissive to Harry for a while. They were equals in many regards, though until just recently, Harry had superseded him in a few key ways, his spectacular flying and magic abilities being primary.  
  
After a last tucking of hair behind his ears, Ron crawled on top of their four-poster and assumed the kneeling position Harry had demanded he take. Aside from their respective early attempts at relationships with girls their sixth year, they had been each other's sole lovers. Ron didn't think he'd gotten at all a bad deal with that. To be sure, they'd had their fair share of fumbling, awkward and occasionally painful encounters. With time, a keen interest in sexual exploration, and bottomless affection for each other, he and Harry had created a very satisfying erotic life. Tonight would be uncommonly exotic; just thinking about what Harry was devising in his sometimes devious mind made Ron's nerves sizzle with anticipation. Looking quickly at the door, he confirmed that Harry wasn't standing there. He pulled on his testicles, purposefully slowing his breathing to try and alleviate the nearly unbearable tension prickling in his erection.  
  
Once certain he wouldn't come from his vivid imagination alone, Ron dropped his hand back to the bedspread. Alternately he looked at the headboard with its dual carved lions and back down to the anatomically identical replica of Harry's cock, though it was a shimmering golden colour. It was rather odd that Ron had asked Harry to make the mould for him, since their usual coupling involved Ron doing the entering. For solo wanking, however, especially when Harry was gone for days with his team, the dildo was divine.  
  
There was a noise at the doorway. Harry hadn't said whether or not Ron was allowed to look or touch or do anything, really, so he kept his head bowed. His skin felt inflamed, as though Harry's gaze alone could sear Ron's marble-like white flesh. Merlin, did he need this. Ron gasped in pain as surprisingly his head was pulled back by the hair.  
  
"Who do you belong to?" Harry's baritone was gritty, the commandeering quality plucking at Ron as though his body were a taut string.  
  
"You," Ron managed after swallowing hard. "Only you." He could tell that Harry was relishing this game, and his cock twitched.  
  
"Good."  
  
Harry was all over Ron, kissing down Ron's back before returning to Ron's head to mercilessly plunder his sensitive ears. Sensuous sibilants cascaded across Ron's upper neck and he clenched his buttocks, feeling the nipples tighten on his chest. Harry didn't do it often, but on the occasions when he'd spoken in Parseltongue, Ron had felt the words would transfigure him into a puddle of orgasmic goo. He strained to listen as the hissing syllables were mouthed down his spine to the cleft in his arse. Apparently becoming a vampire didn't give him the ability to understand the words, not that he minded.  
  
"Harry, oh fuck!" Ron moaned as Harry's clever tongue danced over his pucker, but didn't breach the muscles.  
  
"I have more in mind for you than just that," Harry said throatily before nipping at Ron's arsecheek.  
  
"Fuck me, please," Ron pleaded. Harry chuckled between Ron's shoulder blades, his pelvis strategically lined up against the crease of Ron's backside. His fingers trailed across Ron's pectorals to pinch the painfully sensitive nubs, causing Ron to whimper at the assault. Shamelessly he bucked into Harry's groin as Harry tugged on Ron's nipples. Ron arched upward, the back of his head tapping against Harry's forehead. "Harry," Ron begged, his voice uneven and cock throbbing. He felt so empty and bereft, despite Harry's body draped over his.  
  
"Ssshhhh now," Harry admonished, reaching down for the dildo. "Soon you'll be so full you won't be able to talk."  
  
A shudder of feral lust flashed along Ron's veins. He was panting, head drooping again. His eyes closed as his over stimulated body awaited Harry's next touch, kiss, or slick invasion, hopefully all three at once. From the familiar noises behind him, he knew Harry was oiling the dildo and perhaps other body parts as well. There was a soft _whump_ as the vial was dropped on the bed. Ron leaned down, forehead on his hands, willing his anus to relax.  
  
"You're so gorgeous like this," Harry said, his voice both reverent and predatory. Ron made a muffled cry as he felt a greased finger push into him. He began gnawing on a pillowcase when Harry slid in two digits, twisting and cing them, hitting that spot Ron so intimately knew in Harry's body. Around the fabric, Ron released a litany of low, needy sounds, hoping Harry would fill him with more than just fingers, and soon.  
  
He got his wish. Harry ran the blunt edge of the dildo around Ron's hole, circling once before steadily easing it in.  
  
"Oh fuck," Ron said against his wrist, having turned his head to look across the room at the mirror above Harry's chest of drawers. Harry kneeled behind him, eyeing his handiwork as he manoevered the dildo in Ron's channel, pushing it as far as it would go. A look of concentration was on Harry's face, and he stroked a piece of leather between thumb and forefinger on his other hand. Slowly Harry turned to look into the mirror, a prurient, wicked expression on his face as he caught Ron staring at them.  
  
"I'd watch, too," Harry growled, thrusting the dildo as Ron cried out, shocked at how turned on he was by seeing his lover pummel him. Each deep nudge against his prostate made the heat in his groin liquefy, spreading through his body but mostly to his neglected, rigid cock.  
  
“Don’t come yet,” Harry threatened. He stilled his movements, ensuring that the dildo would remain buried in Ron’s arse. He slid down the bed, angling on his side so he could reach Ron’s straining erection. All Ron could do was whimper, eyes screwed shut and his thighs shaking as he tried to slow his pulsing tide of release. With familiar fingers, the leather was strapped around the base of his cock and fastened securely.  
  
“Gods, Harry,” Ron choked, realising what Harry was doing.  
  
“Turn over,” Harry commanded, his eyes suffused with lust, the pupils wide and black. Gingerly Ron did so, his attentions torn between Harry’s jutting cock to the stretching pressure deep within him to his bound shaft, and back again. Once settled, Ron held his arms open, unsure of where Harry was going. Was he going to tie him to the bedposts?  
  
“I can’t tell you how good it’s going to feel to fuck you,” Harry said almost lazily, knee-walking up Ron’s chest. “But I want to taste you first.”  
  
The flushed head of Harry’s cock swayed tantalysingly close to Ron’s mouth, and he rose up to his elbows, greedy for it. Harry tilted his hips, allowing Ron to swirl his tongue over the soft, bulbous flesh before pulling back. “I think we should both enjoy this,” he said with a smirk.  
  
Moments later Ron thought he was going to die from staunched pleasure. Harry had turned around and was devouring Ron’s cock, tonguing all around him and playing with his tormented sacs. At the same time, Ron licked and sucked on Harry. The dildo shifted every time Ron clenched his inner muscles. He made strangled, pitiful sounds as his release was diabolically kept in check, and still Harry suckled and scraped gently on Ron's shaft with his teeth. Ron did his best to force Harry’s climax, but Harry knew him too well. Harry crawled forward and Ron was forced to release the savoury cock with a groan.  
  
“Now, I think,” Harry said, licking his lips and sitting on his heels.  
  
“Yours.” Ron lay with his limbs spread wide, inviting Harry to claim him, uncaring as to how desperate he looked.  
  
“Mine.”  
  
The dildo was tugged from Ron’s body, and Harry quickly pulled Ron’s feet behind his back. He placed his cock at the quivering muscles and entered Ron with a low sigh. Ron writhed underneath him, squeezing his muscles with all he had, hoping the anguished rumblings would translate to Harry how violently he desired him. He pulled Harry down, and Harry crushed his lips against Ron’s, thrusting deeply and somehow gracefully as Ron moaned into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s breath gusted against Ron’s palate while their tongues lapped and battled in wet heat.  
  
When Ron thought he couldn’t stand another second, Harry pushed up, shaking his head so that small drops of sweat fell across Ron’s face. Panting, Harry appeared suddenly focused as he leaned back down to suck on the side of Ron’s neck. Ron felt the cock ring give way, Harry’s wandless magic at work. The release roared from Ron, a seemingly endless, ecstatic gush. Harry chanted Ron's name, grasping Ron's hands and clenching at his fingers as Ron sensed the fluid far inside himself. As best he could, he milked Harry's orgasm, eyes shut as he surrendered to the musky, sated haze that permeated the air around them.  
  
Long moments passed before they were breathing normally. Ron's heels slid down Harry's sweat-slicked back to flop on the covers. He was still overwhelmed by the blissful carnality of their act, of Harry's possessive, generous gift. Words eluded him. Instead, he extracted his hands, holding Harry in his arms and burying his face in his lover's wild, damp hair. Harry exhaled a pleased, soft sound into Ron's shoulder before lying still, lost in his own sated reverie. Ron drew circles on Harry's back, imagining he could feel the feathers of Harry's phoenix tattoo. He began to brush long, deep strokes, the toned muscles as familiar as the tracks of scars under his fingers.  
  
Just as Ron thought Harry had gone to sleep, he lifted his head.  
  
"You've made me hungry," Harry said. "Join me in the kitchen?" he asked hopefully, and Ron nodded.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Reluctantly they drew apart from each other, changing from a warm, amorphous tangle of limbs to two distinct individuals. Ron did the cleansing spell honours and allowed Harry to dress him. "I'm the luckiest bloke, ever," Ron said, shaking his head at the humbling reality of Harry standing there.  
  
The Boy Who Lived who became Ron's Best Mate and Slayer of Voldemort before turning into He Who Asked Ron to be Handfasted self-consciously adjusted his glasses before replying.  
  
"That makes two of us."  
  
Taking Ron's hand, Harry squeezed it and led them down the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

"You're a bloody fucking shark, you are!" Seamus swore in defeat.  
  
"I knew you'd played a lot, but even I didn't realise how good you were." Harry echoed the sentiments, leaning against the nearby fireplace lintel.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to let the host win, at least once?" Seamus joked, tossing back a shot of Bitter Banshee before slamming it on the side of the pool table.  
  
"I thought I was the host," Draco said imperiously, enjoying the fire's heat next to Harry.  
  
"We're both hosts, we're just at your house."  
  
"I'd hardly call Malfoy Manor just a house," Ron observed, taking a wide-legged stance, staring down the line of his cue stick. "And you're not bad yourself."  
  
"I know," Seamus grinned cockily as Ron aimed and took his shot. "I was the one who bought the table. Draco could care less."  
  
"That's not at all the truth," Draco said defensively. "I've played dozens of games with you."  
  
"Now _that's_ the truth," Seamus quipped, his sandy eyebrows raised.  
  
Draco looked haughtily at him. As the tense seconds ticked by, Ron gave Harry a panicked glance. While it had taken him months to believe that the two were really a couple, Ron had been under the impression that Seamus and Malfoy were rather enamoured of each other. He wasn't at all comfortable at observing what appeared to be a spat, especially given Ron's first-hand experience with their respective volatile personalities.  
  
"It's rather gauche for you to bring up our sex life in front of guests," Draco finally said, the ghost of a smile drifting to his lips.  
  
Harry choked on his wine as he watched Seamus wink and make kissy-lips toward his partner. "Well, sure as shite you don't keep me around for my manners."  
  
"Look," Ron said, making stopping motions with his hands, "I know we're all mates, but feel free to keep your private life private."  
  
"Loosen up, Ron," Seamus said, patting him on the back. "Don't worry. I'll not be sharing any details of how absolutely fucking brilliant Draco is at—"  
  
"Seamus. Shut up," Draco warned, though he looked secretly pleased about whatever it was that Seamus had been about to say.  
  
"I think it's time for us to go," Harry said authoritatively. Ron looked down at the table, then back up at Seamus.  
  
"Oh, go on, you bollocky show-off," Seamus said in mock exasperation.  
  
Seamus poured himself another two fingers full of the beverage he'd created that had made him the Eighth Wealthiest Wizard Under 40, according to _Witch's Weekly_. Ron readied his cue stick and took a last shot. The balls ricocheted off one another and the bumpers until the last one dropped neatly into a corner pocket.  
  
"That was impressive," Draco said with an appreciative nod.  
  
"Thanks." Ron turned to shake Seamus' hand. "Thank you for the rounds. It's good to see you."  
  
Seamus smiled widely. "Same here. I'm a night owl meself, so fire call anytime. You're only up nights now, right?"  
  
Ron felt a rush of gratitude to his former housemate for dealing with Ron's new status so matter-of-factly. "Yeah. Haven't tested it yet, but the evidence says that sunlight will do me in."  
  
"You're not going to test it," Harry said emphatically. He finished his wine and strode over to Ron's side, snaking his arm around Ron's waist.  
  
"Still can't work at St. Mungo's?" Draco asked, elegantly plucking an almond from a ceramic bowl and popping it into his mouth.  
  
"No. I've quit trying," Ron said, trying to mask the dejection he felt in admitting that.  
  
"We're deciding what to do," Harry said, squeezing Ron's hip in reassurance.  
  
"Can you come up with catchy slogans?" Seamus asked, swirling his shot glass and its chrysoprasic contents. "I'm always looking for a new way to sell me Banshee."  
  
"Doubt it," Ron replied. "I'll figure something out, but thanks regardless."  
  
"Draco. Seamus," Harry said, nodding to each in turn. "Thank you for the excellent meal and company. We'll have you over soon."  
  
"It's our pleasure," Draco drawled, the reediness of his voice irritating Ron as it had when they were far younger.  
  
"I don't care if you are a ruddy vampire, I'm going to thrash your arse next time we play pool," Seamus threatened, though his impish smile suggested otherwise.  
  
"Don't bet on it," Ron smiled in challenge. "Take care of yourself."  
  
"Will do. Oh!" Seamus bounded to the other side of the sitting room and came back with two brightly-coloured bits of folded paper. "Can't go without some origami."  
  
"These are really complex," Harry said in awe, turning the fuchsia creature in his hands.  
  
"Yeah," Seamus said proudly. "Hey love, 've you opened the Floo?"  
  
Draco's ears turned a delicate shade of pink as he went to the fireplace, ensuring that Ron and Harry could use the network to get home.  
  
"See you later," Ron said, a handful of Floo powder in his hands.  
  
"Cheers!" Seamus called with a wave as Ron threw in the granules.  
  
"Lion's Den!"  
  
Harry followed shortly thereafter and they brushed the soot from their clothes. "That was fun," he said, looking to Ron for affirmation.  
  
"Yeah. Still can't bring myself to like Malfoy very much," Ron admitted with a small grimace. "Of all blokes that Seamus could fancy—"  
  
"They were tentmates in the War. That's where it all started, I'm pretty certain," Harry interrupted, a mischievous smile appearing on his lips. "From what Tonks told me, despite the danger, there were all sorts of activities going on between the least likely of people."  
  
Ron shook his head. "For the love of Merlin, don't name names," he said, walking to the couch and sitting heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be up for hours yet, and the last thing I want to think of is something—"  
  
"Like Remus and Snape?"  
  
Ron's eyes snapped open. "No, Harry. Absolutely not. Oh, I'm going to be ill. You're a mean bastard," he moaned. "Snape. With anyone. Any _thing_."  
  
Harry smirked as he walked behind Ron, pressing his hands on to Ron's shoulders and beginning to rub into the muscles. Ron allowed himself to ease into Harry's ministrations like a night-blooming plant luxuriating in the moon's placid rays. Just as Harry had honed in on a resolute knot on his left shoulder, there was a sharp rap on the door. Ron turned up his head as Harry looked down.  
  
"Were you expecting anyone?" Harry asked cautiously.  
  
"No. Suppose you weren't either."  
  
Harry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we left something at the Manor," he said, walking into the entrance hall. He pulled open the door, but didn't move. "Yes?" Harry asked, his tone strangely distant.  
  
In an instant, Ron was off the couch and behind Harry in the doorframe.  
  
"Ronald."  
  
"Yeah. Who in blazes are you?"  
  
Ron knew it innately, as fluidly as his somewhat shrunken veins could carry the obvious to him. It was another vampire, not a Wizard, and not the one who had Changed him. He was as pale as Ron, his hair an unassuming brown, and wearing an expensive Burberry trench. Despite his composure, he appeared out of sorts, some mild trepidation held in check under his calm exterior.  
  
"Martin. Martin Fawlkes."  
  
"Martin Fawlkes?" Ron subsumed a laugh into a more appropriate cough. "You sound as British as they come."  
  
"Was once, yes." The resonant baritone traversed the room, returning to Ron's ears with a soothing comfort. "Mind if I come in?"  
  
Harry stiffened and Ron chastised himself for having been so self-absorbed. "Of course. This is Harry. Harry Potter," Ron fumbled on, feeling the need to explain.  
  
"Pleasure," Harry said stonily, thrusting out his hand. "You're a vampire. Did you do this to Ron?"  
  
Ron had to admire Harry for asking such a thing. Granted, he'd faced down Voldemort, but this was different, and they'd just invited the vampire into their house. Shards of sentences he'd read from his books bombarded Ron's mind. _Never invite a vampire into your home. Invitations are deadly. The vampire thrives on hospitality._  
  
"Ronald. Give pause — your thoughts are enough to give me a wretched headache," Martin said in disdain. "You're already a vampire, and I have no intentions of attacking you or Changing this one. I've come to invite you to meet some of your brethren. We're all, what do you call us?" He scowled for a moment, his pointed chin akimbo as he turned his head, searching for a word. "Muggles. But immortal, as you are." Head righted, he looked like the most normal, middle-aged gent Ron could imagine, except for his eyes. Martin's erstwhile pale blue eyes held behind them a steely, fearless cognizance. He could be sixty, or three hundred and sixty. The incongruity of demeanour to reality shook Ron to his marrow.  
  
"Where are they?" he asked, pulling Harry closer to him.  
  
"Let's discuss this by the fire," Martin suggested.  
  
"But it's not—" Harry began.  
  
Martin angled his hand toward the fireplace and snapped his fingers. A merrily crackling blaze appeared, its cheery light chasing away the shadows in the sitting room. Before Ron even knew what was happening, Harry had stepped two paces forward to eye Martin, his wand jabbing above the vampire's heart.  
  
"How did you do that?" he asked, incredulous. "You're a vampire, not a Wizard. Or so you said."  
  
Martin looked down pointedly at the wand against his ribcage and slowly raised his hands.  
  
"I'm not. Our kind are bequeathed certain powers, regardless of our abilities prior to the Change," he countered, his gaze patient as he stood, statue-like.  
  
"Excuse me," Ron interjected, defensive anger goading him to say something. "Let me get this straight. Martin, you've come here to tell me where to meet other vampires. Is it a coven? Because I thought we'd done our level best to break those up. Wizards consider vampires to be Dark Creatures," he said, his words slowing to a trickle.  
  
Martin blinked owlishly. With supernatural speed, he swept his hand down his chest to remove Harry's wand. "Word had reached us that another had been made. Vampires are usually solitary by nature, but we do congregate on occasion. Do you wish to bring the mortal with you?"  
  
Ron's eyebrows knit together as he frowned. "Harry is my bondmate. My partner. Lover," he said defiantly. He raised his gaze to bore into Martin, now leaning against the wall. He was apparently amused, given the dimpled crease in his right cheek.  
  
"Of course. Bring him." With unexpected grace, Martin peeled away from the wall and put his hand on the doorknob. "Come to the Golden Monkey. Go through the main pub to the back. There will be a fetching woman in green. The keyword is Oliphaunt."  
  
With a wide grin showing his crooked front teeth, Martin opened the door and went out into the night.  
  
As the door shut, Ron looked at Harry in a panic. "What the fuck was all that?"  
  
"I'm not sure, but I know we're going out. Together," Harry emphasised. "Look, it's not as though you were going to sleep anyway. And well," Harry shrugged, "we did used to like this sort of thing, going out socially. I think we should both wear our leather."  
  
"Our leather," Ron said disbelievingly. "We're about to go to a vampire club and you're talking about what to wear."  
  
"Yes." Harry gave Ron a passing kiss on the cheek, a soft peck of affection before he clomped up the stairs. "It's our life, Ron. Going to a club sounds like fun, if only you'd get your head out of your arse."  
  
After counting to ten, Ron bounded after Harry, taking the steps two at a time.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A half hour later, Ron's head was spinning. He glanced over to the next table to see Harry engaged in an in-depth conversation with one of the few other non-vampires in the room. As though feeling Ron's eyes on him, Harry looked up and smiled encouragingly. Harry's companion, a man in his mid-twenties with a hair colour that rivaled Tonks' and more metal bits in his face and ears than Ron cared to count, turned and gave a small wave. Ron raised his fingers in response before returning his focus to his tumbler of scotch, and Martin.  
  
"You needn't worry about Miles," Martin said warmly, his standoffish persona having vanished once he saw Ron and Harry make their way through the crowded room. "He's hopelessly smitten with Antoine, poor sod."  
  
Ron tossed back his scotch, wishing it would burn his throat as it used to. "I'm not. I reckon Harry's really glad to find someone else to talk to about his situation. Our situation." He circled the glass on its rounded bottom. "Actually, he's probably grateful to be somewhere that he's not a celebrity."  
  
Martin nodded, taking a sip of wine. "Well, now that you're here, I suspect that you must have a few questions to ask."  
  
"That's an understatement," Ron muttered. "For starters, why aren't there any other Wizards here? How'd you read my mind, back at the flat? And start the fire? What powers do we have besides being able to climb up things and float down rather than fall? Why the hell was I turned into this? Why didn't you come to me sooner, and why are you being so nice? How old are you, anyway?"  
  
Martin settled comfortably in his chair as Ron's barrage slowed to a stop. "I'll try to answer you in as timely and thoroughly a manner as possible. While the night is your realm, that's not the case for your mortal, and I—"  
  
"Harry. He's not my mortal, he's my… Harry," Ron said, anger beginning to spark in his gut.  
  
"Harry. My apologies. I haven't had a mortal companion in many decades. While of course I live and associate with humans, my preferred company has been our kind, or solitude. Please forgive what you see as insensitivity on my part."  
  
Ron noticed a wistful tone in Martin's voice and began to feel badly for having such a quick temper. "It's okay. It's just that of all the changes that I've had to come to terms with, the fact that I'll live forever, look like this forever, and he'll live a normal, way too short life… it's enough to make me want to break stuff. Hit things. Or leave," he said, his voice strangled. "It'd be for the best. Harry could find someone else." He hated saying the words, and they came out harshly, as though not wishing to pass his throat and become audible.  
  
"Ronald, you're stronger than you know." Why Martin's measured tones were so soothing, Ron couldn't articulate, but he was grateful when the unassuming vampire laid his equally pale hand on Ron's. "Let me talk for a while and explain what I am able. You're a fledgling, and you've had no guidance. Please reassure me that you'll refrain from doing anything rash."  
  
"Like hunting down Muggles, scaring them to death and sampling them like they're different flavoured Bertie Botts' beans or something?" Ron said in disgust.  
  
"Before I go on, let me remind you that you're a vampire. You must drink blood to survive. You've been in your new form for less than two months and you've yet to actually kill a victim, is that correct?"  
  
"Yes." Put in those terms, Ron felt less self-revulsion and more of the excitement he'd had when he'd held each of the people on whom he'd fed.  
  
"Think on that, then, and don't let unnecessary guilt cloud your conscience. You'll forgive my being blunt, but you are now, by nature, a killer. Within your world, however, it appears that you've overriden this, perhaps by some potion, but your instincts will never change. This brings me to your question about wizards." He paused, taking a deep draught of wine, his gestures fluid and compelling. Ron sat rapt as Martin appeared to coalesce his thoughts behind his deceptively mundane exterior.  
  
"I'm one of the elders in this part of the world," Martin explained, interlacing his solid fingers around the stem of the glass. "Nearer to four hundred years old than not, and younger than many. We older ones tend to become far more territorial with age; I was made in these Isles and this is where I prefer to remain. Being here also means that I've come into contact with myriad denizens who have purported magical powers: witches, wizards, druids, selkies, banshees, priests. I've kept my distance and noted what seemed to be of importance. I've seen enough to recognise that just as we vampires are separate and yet an integral part of humankind, so are you who have powers of your own, living longer than most mortals but hiding out of their sight in your own realms. Some vampires don't believe you really exist, but I'm not so blind. Consider me a voluntary liaison, if you wish; I have no desire to walk in your world, but I do know of it, your secretive cities, schools, and wars. Your kind, however, are mostly irrelevant to us."  
  
"Irrelevant?" Ron spluttered. "We were hunting down—"  
  
"The ones you sought are far more nearly kin to you than us. Look around."  
  
Ron did, grudgingly admitting to himself that the vampires the Order had disbanded at the end of the War were nothing like the worldly creatures here in this sequestered part of the pub. Intelligence, suavity and an undercurrent of eroticism emanated from the vampires. They were mostly men, though there were a few females. 'Compelling' was the only word Ron could think of to describe the small multitude; most certainly they were nothing like the desperate, savage entities they'd ferreted out and chased off when dismantling the ragged remains of Voldemort's less savoury minions.  
  
"We have our own realms," Martin went on, "and our own magic, if you will. I've not seen many like you, a hybrid, to use a rather crass term."  
  
Ron looked up as his empty tumbler was refilled. "Thanks," he said to the server, lifting the crystal to toast Martin before downing the contents. "If there weren't many like me, you must know who did this," he said, licking the remnants of the fiery fluid from his lips.  
  
"Actually, I don't, though to be sure I have my suspicions." Martin softly ran his palm across the back of Ron's hand and up his forearm, the gesture shockingly intimate. Oddly enough, Ron didn't mind; it seemed fraternal, something a dear friend would know to do, not at all a lover's touch. "You'd asked about my mind reading." A smile tugged at the corner of Martin's lips. "I can hear your thoughts because they are open to me. To anyone here who is interested in knowing them, in truth."  
  
Ron began to panic. "Does that happen all the time? Have you all been knowing what's going on in my head for weeks?" His thoughts of rage at the world, bottomless self-pity and intimate acts with Harry all rushed to his memory and he cringed. "That's bloody intrusive. Worse than Legilimency," he fumed. "Even Harry doesn't do that, not without asking."  
  
 _"Ronald, calm down."_  
  
Ron heard the words directly, though Martin hadn't spoken aloud. He had sat back in his chair, however, and seemed distant in spite of the direct way he was communicating. Ron felt warm arms encircle his neck, Harry's chest possessively pressed against Ron's back.  
  
"You're not getting ideas are you, Martin?" Harry asked politely, though his body language bristled with restrained anger.  
  
"He's not, he's just explaining," Ron insisted, pulling out the chair next to him so Harry could sit at his side. "Harry can pry into people's minds and block people from doing it to him," he told Martin, who nodded knowingly.  
  
"Before I say anything further, let me allay your fears. No, none of us that I know of have been listening to your thoughts. Except in rare cases, we require proximity to do so, hence my comment to you at your home. With little effort, you can choose to erect a barrier over your mind, preventing other vampires from sensing you so wholly."  
  
"You all are Legilimens and Occlumens?" Harry asked skeptically. "Mind readers?"  
  
"If I think I understand your terms, no," Martin said carefully. "Our skills have similar manifestations and ends, but are incongruous. I'm unsure about Ronald, inhabiting two worlds as he does."  
  
"Are you listening to my thoughts now?" Ron asked, genuinely at a loss.  
  
"Not intentionally, I'm not."  
  
"I can tell when Harry does it, but he asks first," Ron said. "It's like he's poking around, but it's gentle."  
  
"I'm doing that on purpose, for sure," Harry said candidly. "Otherwise it feels terrible."  
  
Martin steepled his fingers. "You're not restraining them right now. Take a moment to concentrate, Ronald. Focus on the blood traveling throughout your body. See your wisdom in your mind's eye, the thoughts and memories coursing in your brain. Imagine that energy is hovering about your head, a shimmering halo that extends a few inches from your scalp."  
  
Eyes closed, Ron did as Martin suggested, barely noticing when Harry placed his hand on Ron's thigh.  
  
"Very good. Now visualise a shield, a permeable layer you've made that covers your thoughts but doesn't trap them."  
  
Ron felt instantly singular. He was aware of a soft tapping around his envisioned barrier, as though tender fingers were caressing it, seeking entrance. His eyes flew open and he saw Martin beaming at him from across the table.  
  
"Well done," he said proudly.  
  
"I can't sense you anymore!" Harry exclaimed, panic edging his voice. "Ron, don't do that, please. It's awful."  
  
Perplexed, Ron turned to Harry. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I don't know!" Harry said, flustered in a way that made Ron worried. "I've just, well, since we—" He glanced over at Martin, before focusing his wild-eyed gaze back to Ron. "Since we pledged ourselves to each other, I've felt a really faint hum, but that's not it. Fuck. Stupid words. I can feel you, sense any major, no, catastrophic mood swings, things like that. Your mind's sometimes a whirlwind, Ron, and I don't dare enter without your permission. But you've never been shut off from me like you are now. Even when you were gone, and I couldn't find you, I knew you were alive because I could _feel_ you."  
  
His black pupils were alarming, nearly overwhelming the vivid green. Ron leaned forward, trying to reassure Harry with his physical presence. Ron's perception of the change was far more subtle, though he still felt a persistent kneading against his mind.  
  
"You're right in front of me, but you're not there!" Harry said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. Ron could only too easily imagine pint glasses shattering left and right if something didn't happen to pacify Harry, and soon. No matter that he was in a den of vampires, Harry was an incredibly powerful wizard, and he was distraught.  
  
 _"Visualise the cover over your thoughts,"_ Ron heard clearly in Martin's calming timbre, though again he hadn't spoken out loud. _"See it as mesh, as a strong but porous film. Allow it to let out the superfluous, mundane paths, the meandering courses your mind takes without you even realising you're doing so."_  
  
With pointed focus, Ron concentrated, letting most of his thoughts hover atop the barrier. The more convoluted, messy and scattered dark smatterings of his inner core he kept submerged, grateful to separate them from the rest.  
  
A massive weight seemed to slough from Harry as he relaxed, nearly tumbling into Ron's lap. "That was a nightmare," he murmured into Ron's neck. Harry’s pulse was a caged bird flapping against his torrid skin, nearly scalding against Ron's cold flesh.  
  
 _"Thank you,"_ Ron sighed in relief, only recognising that he'd communicated telepathically after the words had flown directly to their recipient.  
  
 _"You're welcome, Ronald of the in-between,"_ Martin replied. He bestowed his unspoken approval as Harry grasped Ron's hand and pulled it to his chest. _"I know you still have unanswered questions, but I think it best that you return home with your Harry,"_ he said silently, a capricious delight dancing in his sky-blue eyes. "Since I didn’t make you, you have the ability to seek me at any time through conscious thought. I have no designs on you; you merely remind me of one I made nearly three centuries ago, and I do not wish any malice to befall you."  
  
Ron nodded gratefully at Martin, the resoundingly British vampire who kept more secrets than Ron was willing even to guess at.  
  
"Let's go home," Ron murmured into Harry's disheveled hair. "Okay with you?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Harry had regained nearly all of his composure when they returned to the flat. He’d also channeled his temporary anxiety into physical need, unwilling not to be touching Ron in some manner as they’d made their few goodbyes at the Golden Monkey. He practically attacked Ron once they Apparated into their bedroom.  
  
"Want you, now," he moaned along Ron’s jaw, pulling off his glasses and kissing Ron so ferociously Ron’s breath was taken away. Harry’s whole mouth was alive, his tongue sliding possessively around Ron’s, thrusting into the wet heat before pulling back to suck Ron’s lower lip into his mouth. He bit lightly, nibbling the soft lip while grinding his hips against Ron’s. Neither of them was very aroused yet, but given Harry’s determination, Ron could tell it wouldn’t be long. Harry stumbled back against the wall, pulling Ron to him. Harry’s desire for Ron was an alembic for his own passion; he focused intently on the residual taste of beer in Harry’s mouth, how the smooth texture of Harry’s tongue as it parried against Ron’s made his pulse quicken. The slow burn of anticipation flared in Ron’s groin, his cock inevitably beginning to harden in its leather-clad confines.  
  
Ron rocked into Harry, grasping the back of his head to better control his assault on Harry’s mouth. Harry twisted his head to break the kiss, panting for breath. "No clothes," he growled, pulling his wand from its slender holster at his waist. Seconds later they were naked and Harry had slid partially down the wall, mercilessly laving and pulling at Ron’s hard nipples.  
  
"Fuck, Harry, you’re amazing," Ron gasped. He arched his chest into Harry’s conquesting mouth, mumbling phrases of love and profanity as the nubs were pinched and bitten. He placed his hands against the wall for purchase, glorying in the musky, slightly sour smell rising around them as their bodies reacted to one another. He pulled Harry up, mashing their lips together to taste his own scent before engaging in his own sensual barrage against Harry’s torso. Ron was so focused on nipping and sucking hard enough to bruise that the fact that he was hearing not only Harry's audible adulations but also his unspoken pleadings, took him by surprise.  
  
"I can _hear_ you," he said raggedly, looking up at Harry's face and glazed expression.  
  
"Do you want…" Harry said, taking a deep breath. He looked at Ron so openly Ron felt as though Harry had seen inside of him, at the roiling need and passion and that if he stared long enough, he would see the same in Harry.  
  
"Okay," Ron whispered, concentrating as he had before to open his mind, inviting Harry and willing him access to his thoughts.  
  
It was a maelstrom of desire, gratitude, need and fear. Their thoughts tumbled around each other until settling into a less frantic, open exchange. Ron sank to his knees, resting his forehead against Harry's abdomen, the hard shaft at Ron's breastbone. Their intertwining perceptions were weave and weft, a roaring, silent lexicon that resonated in him as though he were a struck bell.  
  
 _"Ron."_  
  
Ron knew. The word fervidly throbbed in his own body and he leaned down to lick the head of Harry's cock.  
  
 _"Oh gods."_  
  
With tongue and lips, Ron made love to Harry's cock, drowning in the words of praise and ardor that rained down on him. He felt the spell Harry wandlessly cast on himself and sent his fingers to caress Harry's perineum, knowing he would find the entrance behind slick and clenching.  
  
 _"Take me. Fuck me, here, nownownow."_  
  
Despite his lover's desperation, Ron took his time tormenting him, slowly pushing three fingers into the tight muscles. In and out, he thrust and retreated against the strong, hot channel. Harry made animalistic, snarling sounds as Ron flicked his tongue around the tip of Harry's cock, savouring the musky fluid when it leaked out. Ron's own passion began demanding attention, his hard cock as of yet untouched.  
  
 _"Want you so much, gods you're tight, I'll fuck you into the wall, mine, all mine, want to hear you screaming when you come."_  
  
"Ron," Harry moaned, "Careful— don't want to come yet."  
  
Ron slowly withdrew his fingers and stood at full height before looking around for their lubricant. Moments later his right palm was filled with a fragrant oil, more of Harry's impatient, wandless magic. Ron slicked his erection, keeping his gaze locked on Harry who licked his lips, dry from his wide-mouthed breathing. Making love standing up was decidedly not the most comfortable manner in the world, but Ron didn't care. Besides, it was what Harry wanted. They communicated beyond barriers; Ron knew even before Harry put his hands on Ron's shoulders that he'd cast a levitation spell, allowing him to wrap his legs around Ron's waist. Ron held his cock and groaned at the sight of it, poised at Harry's slippery, relaxed hole.  
  
 _"Ready?"  
  
"I'll die if you don't."_  
  
The pressure was exquisite around Ron's cock, the intimacy of it all the more daunting with their enmeshed emotions. Ron thrust hard into Harry, pulling back to sheathe himself again and again, angling to hit Harry's prostate each time, his hands anchored to Harry's hips. The back of Harry's head knocked against the wall, his heels jabbing into the flesh above Ron's arse as Ron pummeled him. He knew Harry's body could take it, that he wanted to be fucked roughly, to be claimed.  
  
 _"Fucklovefucklovegodswanttocomefeelsogoodsothickfuckmefuckmelove"_  
  
The delicious squeezing around his cock pushed Ron rudely to his orgasm. Eyes shut, his legs shook, the uncontrolled release shattering through him, fierce and molten. Harry's hand slid roughly up and down his own shaft and he came with a wail, the fluid spurting over his fingers and up onto the trail of black hair on his abdomen. A flickered thought spun in the space between them as Harry caught his breath, one so inconceivable Ron hoped that he’d imagined it.  
  
 _"You can’t leave me. Make me like you."_  
  



	7. Chapter 7

4:14.  
  
The colours of the numbers on the clock shifted and morphed, but refused to change any faster than conventional passing seconds would allow. Ron sighed. His mind wandered as he doodled on the newspaper in front of him, having finished the crossword with ease. Harry hadn't been able to stay awake, though he had expressed his determination to adapt to Ron's nocturnal timeframe. They hadn't spoken about Harry's forbidden, tragically ludicrous wish that had accidentally surfaced after their night at the Golden Monkey. To Ron's mind, there was no point in contemplating it; such a concept was inconceivable. That he had become the creature he was was one thing; to voluntarily Change Harry… something lowered far inside Ron's being, a primal element that knew innately to do so would be fantastically wrong.  
  
4:16.  
  
He looked down at the page, startled when he realised he was decorating a word he'd written. _Firebrand._ It didn't mean anything to him, wasn't a word he associated with anything, or anyone. Yet it made him angry, somehow. Ron searched his mind for the meaning, wondering if it was a potions ingredient he'd had to remember for some long-forgotten exam. No, there was something about the word that made him nauseous, he was so angry. Ron's normal mercurial temperament had actually become relatively placid since his conversation with Martin. Having much, though certainly not all, about his situation explained to him enabled Ron to feel less manipulated, more in control. That was a welcome sensation, one he could sense reflected back to him as Harry's contentedness rose, seeing that Ron felt less tormented.  
  
"Firebrand," he said softly, marveling at how two syllables could make him furious. "This is bollocks," he seethed, deciding on a whim that now was the perfect moment to fully test his magical strength. Harry had offered to be his duelling partner, but that'd seemed like a recipe for rampant disaster, no matter Harry's own powers. Ron strode to their fireplace, casting a _Silencio_ on the walls first so as not to wake Harry.  
  
As soon as the flames appeared, he stuck in his face. "Seamus!" he hissed, trusting that his friend would understand why Ron needed to use the Manor grounds at this hour of the morning. "Seamus! It's Ron!"  
  
"Do you know what fucking time it is?" Seamus' sleep-gravelly brogue held no malice.  
  
"Yeah. Sorry to wake you." Ron could see Seamus squatting at his fireplace, rubbing his eyes, his hair rivaling Harry's in its state of chaos.  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"No. Well, yes, sort of. Look, can I come over and use the grounds until sunrise? Harry's asleep, and I'm about to go out of my fucking skull. I've not really tested my magic since becoming a vampire, and our attic isn't really the place for me to be casting some of the nastier spells I think I should."  
  
Though he yawned, Seamus looked sympathetic. "Sure. I'm only keyed to a few of the wards, though. Draco's quite fond of me, but he's not stupid. He's as cautious as I am. You don't need that much space, do you?"  
  
"Don't reckon. Not the forest or anything."  
  
Seamus absently scratched at his scalp through his tousled hair. "Let's you Apparate outside of the broomshed. You know the coordinates?"  
  
"Yes. Hey— thanks. I owe you."  
  
Seamus smiled sleepily. "Bollocks. We're mates. Give me a couple of minutes to tell Draco what's going on. He's up faster than a whipcrack if any of the wards even flicker."  
  
"I need to leave Harry a note, too."  
  
Ron backed away from the fire and extinguished it. In the kitchen he rummaged through a drawer to find a left over sparkler, a Wheezes' product of surprising practicality. Walking quietly into their bedroom, he wrote a short message, scanning it as the shimmering aqua letters hung in the air, placed so it would be the first thing Harry saw when he awoke. Hopefully the message would be moot.  
  
 __

Gone to the Manor — was a bit stir crazy. Testing magic. Back before sunrise.


__  
  
He pulled on a light but warm tracksuit top, exited their flat more softly than he had been able to as a mortal, and stood looking at the moon. Ron contemplated the light of the waxing orb, far off in the night sky. He was stalling, but for good reason; he'd Apparated into blocked wards before and the feeling of being jolted back was most unpleasant. After a few more minutes went by, he Apparated to the Manor grounds.  
  
Seamus was there, hands shoved into the pockets of a thick bathrobe. "Morning."  
  
"Not nearly," Ron said apologetically. "Thanks, really."  
  
"What's got you so riled up?"  
  
Ron fidgeted with his belt, weighing whether or not he wanted to discuss his irrational word hatred with Seamus. "Something stupid, as usual."  
  
"Look Ron, I've been told more than once that I'm not the most sensitive bloke. Even I can appreciate just how fucked up your life's become. You're being pretty hard on yourself."  
  
A grateful smile meandered to Ron's lips. "Thanks, Seamus. That means a lot."  
  
Seamus grinned in return. "Hey, since it's just the two of us, and I've no shame in asking anything, well, d'you want to drink from me? It's an experience I'd not have otherwise, without dying, I mean."  
  
Ron barely suppressed a groan, but his vampire instincts couldn't have been more pleased with the prospect. "Nothing against you," he heard himself saying as Seamus' expressive face fell, "but it's a personal thing. Harry doesn't want to share."  
  
Seamus looked affronted. "Didn't know he was a perv," he said, picking at a bit of skin on his thumb.  
  
"I said that wrong," Ron said in Harry's defense. "It's sort of intimate. In an erotic way."  
  
"Oh, go on then!" Seamus' eyes gleamed playfully. "Who'd know? You're a Healer, or were— you can cover the marks. You'll be in for the day when Harry gets up. Besides, you look atrocious." He put a friendly hand on Ron's arm. "'S'truth. I don't mean to butt in, but if blood would calm you down a bit, make you feel better, I'm just offering. I promise I won't go all gooey-eyed on you."  
  
It had been hours since Ron had fed. Martin's admonition to accept whole-heartedly that he was a vampire or else he'd go mad chased away any fragmented guilt.  
  
"Okay," Ron said hungrily, allowing his senses to smell the blood as it pulsed under Seamus' skin. Shock flickered in Seamus' expression at the speed at which Ron pulled him close, enfolding Seamus in a one-armed embrace as he opened the collar of the bathrobe with his other hand.  
  
"You know how much you can take without a bloke passing out, right?" Seamus said in a quavering voice.  
  
"Yes. I won't hurt or drain you," Ron promised in a low voice against Seamus' lightly freckled throat. He gripped him more tightly when Seamus trembled against him. "You smell delicious."  
  
His fangs had moved down to their full length as the scent of heated skin flooded his nostrils. Ron tenderly licked above Seamus' artery, tracing its path on his skin before sinking in his teeth with a heady sigh.  
  
 _Blood, blood, blood._ Ron was more refined at the process now; he knew to listen to the heart as it pumped and to drink slowly, drawing the hot, succulent liquid in at languorous speed. He closed his eyes as he feasted, marveling at its peppery quality as the blood coursed over his tongue. Seamus moaned softly, arms wrapped around Ron for support. It seemed perfectly natural that Seamus grew hard, his covered erection pressing against Ron's thigh. To Ron the experience wasn't sexual, though it was most certainly carnal. He drank greedily until he began to feel Seamus slacken. He pulled back, suckling at the wounds until they closed.  
  
Seamus dropped his head to Ron's shoulder, breathing deep, shuddering breaths. With the fresh blood singing in his veins, Ron felt utterly at peace, unselfconscious and invigorated. He rubbed at Seamus' lower back until the Irishman stood up, an unguarded expression on his face unlike Ron had ever seen on his friend.  
  
"Well, ride me rotten," he sighed blissfully, his hazel gaze settling up on Ron's visage. "You look like a kneazle that's dined on a tasty swallow." He paused, adjusting his bathrobe over his groin. "Better?"  
  
"You can't imagine," Ron said shaking his head, enjoying the expansive tones to his voice that appeared when he was flush with blood. "I feel tremendous. Why I continue to find that surprising is ridiculous. I'm a vampire."  
  
"The teeth do give you away," Seamus said with a chuckle before trying to stifle a yawn. "Here— do you still want to do your magic stuff or do you want to just go home?"  
  
"No, this is the perfect time to test my abilities, when I'm at full strength."  
  
Seamus nodded. "Follow me, then. Draco approved of unwarding this part that we've used as a Quidditch pitch on occasion."  
  
They walked together across the crunchy, frost-kissed grass, the moon hanging silently above them. Ron perceived the wards as they approached and was rather stunned at their complexity and density.  
  
"Draco does know the War's over, right?"  
  
Seamus snorted. "My dragon's a bit paranoid. Can't say's I blame him. Just sec." He withdrew his wand, incanted several chained spells and placed his hand on the shimmering barrier. Seconds later it vanished.  
  
"Thanks again, Seamus." Ron felt expansive and affectionate. "I'll check with Harry and have you two over."  
  
"Harry offered that over a week ago, but I've yet to see an invitation," Seamus said in mock hurt. "Do your stuff and get home. I don't want to be having to explain why there's a crispy vampire out on the lawn."  
  
"Piss off," Ron joked. After Seamus Disapparated, he walked purposefully toward the middle of the wide space before deciding to test his vampiric limits while his body was newly suffused with blood. With ease he discovered he could levitate just above the ground, his shadow hovering at his heels. He laughed aloud, his body humming with power and control. He visualised jumping upward and let out a whoop of pleasure as he rocketed from the ground, only to return gracefully to earth like a falling snowflake. Ron did that a few times before deciding to move on. Trying to be methodical, he ran through basic spells before moving on to the more advanced. Buoyed by his abilities, he became a dervish, whirling as he cast hexes and curses, finding near-maniacal delight as the colours shot from his wand. A couple of defenseless trees bore the brunt of his enthusiasm, as well as a few sacrificial birds and unlucky hares. He could feel the pull of morning but fought it, trusting in his heightened power and wanting to know how close to dawn he could stay awake.  
  
The awful word surged back into his mind. With a snarl, he imagined the faceless presence of the vampire who had made him, and yelled, " _Avada Kedavra!_ ," pointing at a hapless deer that had picked an inopportune moment to appear in the distance. The energy drained out of him and he collapsed into a panting heap, sweat pouring off of him, his clothes sticking to him like a clammy second skin. The chirping of a few brave songbirds fell on his ears as, to Ron's horror, he realised the sun was about to rise.  
  
"Fuck," he said through a sob, seeing just how far he was from the line of trees. He knew if he tried to Apparate in this condition he'd splinch himself. "Merlin, bollocks, Ron you fucking imbecile," he moaned, crawling on spent, trembling arms and legs a few paces before collapsing. His skin prickled, his preternatural awareness screaming at him to seek cover, to hide in the dirt, but his muscles simply couldn't comply.  
  
 _"MARTIN!"_ he screamed telepathically, yelling for the vampire again and again as he felt the deadly encroaching rays of the sun's first light. He shielded his eyes against the impending onslaught, trying to round into a tight ball as unconsciousness claimed him.  
  


* * * * *

Ron awoke sluggishly to the scent of clean but unfamiliar sheets. He ached all over. For a few passing, discombobulated moments, he wondered if he'd been knocked off his broom in a Quidditch match. There was a warm body behind him. Assuming it was Harry, he attempted to snuggle up to him. "Ow," he moaned as his skin rubbed against what was unbearably coarse cloth.

"Ron, I'm going to kill you," Harry said into the back of Ron's neck, the heated breath causing Ron to gasp in pain and open his eyes.

_"I wouldn't move much, were I you."_

"Martin!" Despite the warning, Ron tried to sit up before lowering gingerly back on the bed.

"Yes, Ronald. You Summoned me. Do you remember?"

Ron probed his mind, thinking about the crossword puzzle, his anger, Seamus. Hastily he erected a filter on his thoughts, mindful of Harry and his own transgression the night before.

"Too late," Harry said, but his voice was compassionate. Ron turned his head to look at him, struck by the worry and relief mingled in Harry's expression. "Seamus was babbling his confession so quickly I could barely understand him. He thinks this is all his fault. When you're able, you'll need to go and convince him that it wasn't his blood that made you act like a suicidal maniac."

"Ron, how do you feel?" Arthur's voice was unexpected. Ron swiveled toward the sound and saw his father sitting next to Martin, the two sharing a pot of tea.

"Like a set of Bludgers were set on me."

Arthur nodded while Martin looked confused.

"Where am I?"

"The Manor, in a Transfigured vault." Harry disentangled himself and moved to sit cross-legged on the bedcovering, pulling his jumper closely around him.

"Oh. Right. Fuck," Ron groaned as his memories of his spell-casting and helpless last moments on the grass came flooding to him. Feeling stupid and sheepish, Ron sent his thoughts directly to the other vampire. _"Guess you got to me in time,"_ he said silently, looking at Martin's wise, cerulean eyes.

"I did," he replied aloud. "Ronald, your father and I have been getting to know one another, but I hadn't told him that we can communicate without spoken words. Out of courtesy, I'd suggest that we use conventional speech."

"Okay." Ron shifted again. Through the warm waves of pain, he adjusted his pillows so he was partially upright. It was then he noticed his hands and he stared. The skin on the back was a deep molasses colour, stopping at the wrist. "Merlin," he breathed, turning them to regard the ghostly-pale palms.

"Martin assured us that you'll recover, though it'll take some time," Arthur said, looking and sounding relieved.

"Your Summons gave me just enough time to find you, draw out Mr. Finnigan from this estate, convince him I wasn't here to harm him or you, and alert him to your quickly impending death if you weren't moved. Having lived several centuries, I'm able to withstand nearness to dawn more closely than you. Consequently I was able to retreat to a sanctuary provided by Mr. Malfoy," Martin explained after a sip of tea.

"The sun had just come up otherwise Martin would've hauled you in himself. Seamus didn't trust his dual-Apparating skills, so he had to get Malfoy," Harry continued as Ron sat, his gaze absorbed by his bronze hands. "You'd curled up with your arms over your head. Malfoy threw his robes over you before Apparating here, but the sun had already burned you for a minute or two. Thankfully only your hands were directly exposed."

"That's all the time it took to do this?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.

"You cannot underestimate the sun, fledgling," Martin responded sternly. "You may never lay eyes on her again. She will destroy you."

Ron felt ghastly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the apology intended for everyone in the room. "I shouldn't have tested myself so close to sunrise."

"What does firebrand mean?" Harry asked, stroking the back of Ron's fingers until he saw Ron wince at the contact. "I saw you'd written it down."

"I don't know," Ron said miserably. "But I hate it. I'd thought maybe it was a potions ingredient, but my reaction's way skewed for that, Snape notwithstanding."

"Perhaps your Maker called you that," Martin suggested gently, voicing Ron's suppressed fear. "We almost never make others that aren't done so out of deep affection or love. Your hair colour and personality are rather vivid."

"I don't want to talk about it right now." Ron was vehement. "Dad, thanks for being here. I can only guess how upset Mum is if she wasn't willing to come."

Arthur nodded, a pained expression on his lightly-lined face. "She's a strong woman, you know that. She's angry because she can't stand the thought of you being so foolhardy, and she doesn't want to lose any more sons any time soon."

Ron's voice was a whisper. "It was an accident. I cast an Unforgivable and it took everything out of me."

Harry raised his eyebrows as Ron felt the nudging at his thoughts. He widened the mesh around his mind, or that's how he visualised it. _"I want to talk to you about that later,"_ Harry's voice sounded in his head.

 _"Promise. I'm famished, though,"_ Ron communicated. The thirst had bloomed within his consciousness, an insistent throb beating in time with his heartbeat.

Martin looked thoughtfully at him, before turning to face Arthur. "Mr. Weasley, it has been a pleasure. Perhaps I will visit you at your department, though I well understand that my kind is less than welcome in your hidden world."

Arthur nodded ruefully. "I'd not given vampires much thought, except in the negative, until this happened to Ron. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were able to rescue him." He paused, obviously waiting for Martin to make his farewells.

"Dear Arthur, I'd like to have some time alone with Ronald, and his Harry," he said, his voice suffused with sincerity. "I still have much to explain, some of it being of a private nature." He peered intently at Harry as he continued. "For reasons I don't comprehend, Ronald was abandoned by his Maker. I would like to take him as my fledgling and guide him in his first years. Would you mind leaving us for now?" he asked Arthur, having returned his attentions to the older man. "If they give their consent?"

Ron had the distinct feeling that Martin had been asking Harry for his permission to serve as mentor, and was profoundly touched by the gesture. He glanced at Harry and saw respect in his expression, glad that Harry felt similar recognition in the unasked question.

"Oh. Yes, of course," Arthur said, slightly flustered. He put on an olive and aubergine striped knitted cap and his traveling robes before approaching Ron. "Learn all that you can," he exhorted. "I don't mind getting white hairs, but I'd rather not get them from more experiences like this."

"I believe we're with someone we can trust, Arthur," Harry said confidently, instinctively about to take Ron's hand before Ron made a warning noise.

Arthur appeared to be pulling from a reserve of inner strength as he surveyed the room. Ron knew that his dad could face anything after what had happened in his life and that of his family. Between finally accepting that Ron favoured men, then becoming bound to Harry, coming to terms with him being changed into a vampire and now this, however, he was sure that his beleaguered father could use a hefty dose of reassurance.

"I will, dad. You can tell Mum, too."

Arthur nodded. "Please teach him well," he said to Martin. "I'm afraid our kind… we… have done him a gross disservice."

Martin regarded him solemnly. "I shall."

The door closed softly behind Arthur.

"How damaged is he?" Harry demanded. "I cast an auralic, and his magic's only slightly dampened, but there's more to him now than just his magic."

"His wounds— your wounds," Martin clarified, standing up and coming over to the bed to look directly at Ron, "are not severe. I doubt you will be as fortunate next time."

"There won't be a next time," Ron vowed. "It really was an accident."

Martin and Harry both looked skeptical.

"Well, okay. I got a little cocky, and I've paid the price."

There was a weighty silence. "You're so very young, and you can grow to be a vampire of marvelous strength and skill," Martin said finally. "But you must learn to curb your impetuosity. For now, I wish to engage in a ritual with a dual purpose. I know that your thirst is nearly unbearable, made worse by your blood trying to heal your corporeal self."

 _"If I didn't know it would hurt so much to move, I'd've been on Harry's neck in a second,"_ Ron confided. _"I still might, regardless."_

"Don't talk around me, please," Harry said, his brows furrowed. "I can tell when you're doing it, but I can't hear the words."

"Sorry. Just told Martin that I'm pretty bloody desperate to feed, but he already knew that."

"You shall drink from me," Martin stated.

"What?" Harry exclaimed in consternation.

"Ronald shall drink from me," the vampire repeated. "My blood is far older and more powerful. It will allow him to recover from his injuries with far more speed."

"And I'm just supposed to sit and watch?" Harry was nearly beside himself in agitation.

"Harry," Ron said as soothingly as he could. "What's the matter?"

"This is twice!" he said emphatically, tensing his lips in displeasure. "Seamus yesterday, and now Martin. I don't like the idea of you bonding like that with so many people."

Martin watched the interchange with a dispassionate air.

"Harry, you can't be jealous," Ron pleaded. "It's not the same when it's not you. But I have to feed. Every day. That stuff from the Ministry is atrocious. I don't even know that it would do anything but barely keep me alive, it's so unlike real blood."

"Seamus, then," Harry said, glowering. "What was it like? Did he taste like me?"

"Fuck, Harry, this isn't fair! I didn't get off on it, on feeding, or on him. He volunteered his blood and Merlin knows, I loved drinking it. It would be the same if it were Fred, or McGonagall, or Malfoy, or those bloody Muggles." Ron formed claws with his hands in frustration. "Don't know about Remus, seeing as how he's a werewolf, but I suppose I could try and see if it'll make you be less bloody paranoid."

"I wouldn't recommend feeding on a werewolf," Martin cautioned. He placed a hand on each of their legs, though he'd kept his touch feather-light on the comforter above Ron's thigh. "Outside of your world, most werewolves wouldn't let a vampire anywhere near them. While your world seems to have very different inter-species conventions, my instinct is such that I must discourage you from drinking from any kind of changeling or shape-shifter. Especially you, since you are already unnecessarily complicated."

His professorial-toned voice managed to calm Ron and Harry down.

 _"Sorry, Harry. Blood's really just food,"_ Ron apologised. _"It's a deeper experience with you because we're bound, but even then, I'm feeding, y'know?"_

_"I know."_

Martin looked from Ron to Harry, having intuited their silent exchange. "May I speak?"

"Sure," Harry said, sitting up straighter. "Would you like to sit down?"

Martin nodded. Using his wand, Harry moved the vampire's chair over and he took a seat.

"Ronald was Made and abandoned, though that's not entirely the truth. He was returned to you," Martin said slowly, focused on Harry. A quizzical look flashed across his features. "Begging your pardon, but — No, I'll come back to that." He resumed his prosaic speech while Harry and Ron shared a quick 'what was that about?' glance.

"It is Ronald's good fortune that blood alternatives were provided to him in his first days. Many fledglings are unnecessarily cruel in their initial killings, and I suspect the guilt would have overcome him. I wish to guide Ronald in our ways, but in deference to your bond to him, I will ask for your permission first."

Ron watched Harry's response in fascination. He wasn't sure that he'd ever felt so singularly desired, which didn't make sense, as there were two individuals who wished to be joined to him, albeit in very different ways.

"Do you vow never to harm him, and to protect him if he gets in danger?"

"I do."

"Will you let me join you?"

Martin appeared to be taken aback by the question. "Why would you wish it? You're not one of us."

Harry clenched his teeth before Ron saw him will his jaw to relax. "That's just it. Ron and I have gone through everything together. This is the first thing since I was eleven that I haven't been able to share."

"You killed Voldemort on your own," Ron reminded him, though he was stunned at the level of Harry's distress. "And you nearly died of bloodcurdle. I couldn't share either of those with you."

"But you would've done everything in your power to do so. Don't tell me you've forgotten that you had to be immobilised when you thought I was going to be part of some great sacrifice."

"It wasn't right!" Ron said, his anger about that situation only too ready to be reawakened.

"Harry. The scar on your forehead. It has a profound meaning, does it not?" Martin interjected into the fray.

"Yes. I'll tell you about it some other time. It doesn't do anything now, but it used to connect me to a really powerful Dark wizard." Harry plainly didn't wish to be sidetracked from his line of thought. "I don't want you to make Ron into a killer."

"I am a killer."

"We were in a fucking war, Ron!" Harry yelled, leaning in. "You were supposed to kill people."

"You don't have to remind me!"

The torches on the far wall blazed toward the ceiling and a decorative glass box on a bookcase exploded in a rainbow of shards. With preternatural speed, Martin placed his hands on Harry and Ron's shoulders, each held in a vice-like grip.

"Silence," he hissed.

Ron was in so much pain at the contact that he passed out for a moment. When he came to, Harry was still red-faced and glaring at Martin, whose expression bore none of the rage that had erupted so suddenly.

"If ever I have to say this to you again, you will rue the day," Martin said placidly to Harry, though his words could not have been more dire. "My interest in Ronald is that he learn to survive and thrive as a vampire. I am not trying to wrest control of him from you or anyone else. If you feel you will be mortally devastated if you don't take part in this experience, you may. You must accept, as Ronald has, that his nature has changed. He is an immortal. To survive, he must drink blood, and it is only because of his culture that he does not kill when he feeds. But undoubtedly there will come a time when he will, and that guilt will subside to the point of nothingness over time. If you interfere in that natural process you will drive him to insanity or worse, and he will seek out the refuge of the fire millennia before he should do so. Am I understood?"

Still seething, Harry jerked his head in a facsimile of a nod.

"Good. Ronald, you should feed, but you must exert your will to come to me."

Ron knew he was incapable. His shoulder throbbed where Martin's fingers had clamped down, and the rush of wild, anger-driven magic made him feel pathetically weak.

 _"Come to me,"_ the vampire commanded, his voice a symphony of warmth and love.

Ron focused on the voice, on Martin's encouraging eyes, and his desperate, needy thirst. His body screamed at the tortuous distance up to Martin's milky neck, but the promise of blood forced him up. He draped himself over Martin's much smaller frame, tuning out the bruising hurt where his skin touched the wool of Martin's jumper.

_"Drink."_

Ron's teeth slid past the taut skin. When the first stream caressed his tongue, Ron gasped without removing his lips. The blood was molten light, heady and unbearably vibrant. Outside of the tumultuous riot of rich liquid, so generously given to him, Ron and Time ceased to exist. Each swallow was a chant of gratitude, of supplication, and rapture. He was Spring, coaxing the sap from this tree.

With a shudder, he jerked back. "I've had too much!" he yelped, awkwardly running the back of his unnaturally brown skin across his lips, licking at the residual blood.

Hands held his jaw. Strong fingers, like those of the statues that had transfixed Harry and him when they went to the vast British Muggle museum in London, kept Ron from moving his head. The bottomless sky captured in two orbs regarded him. Ron would be buried there, he just knew it.

_"You aren't truly mine, fledgling."_

Ron couldn't breathe, much less blink.

_"You are now marked as mine, however. And I would kill for you. It is necessary that you know that."_

The air rushed into Ron's lungs. The pain from his moments in the sun had subsided to the faintest hum, and he felt indomitable. He felt rather than heard Martin's low laugh.

_"You're all too fallible, child. Go, beloved. You must deal with your Harry. He may be powerful in your other world, but in this, he is more lost than a mortal in a maze."_

Perplexed, Ron looked at the bed, only then noticing that Harry was gone.

 _"Oh, fuck,"_ Ron thought, grinding the pads of this thumbs against his eyelids.  



	8. Chapter 7.5

  
Author's notes: This scene should have been included at the end of chapter 7, but I can't seem to get the system to accept it. This continues directly from the end of chapter 7 and now there's the loving smut that hadn't quite been written.  


* * *

Ron found Seamus alone, playing pool. He’d been muttering to himself, going on with colourful obscenities about how horrible of a person and friend he was to get Ron very nearly killed. It took Ron a full half hour to calm Seamus down and convince him that it hadn’t been Seamus’ doing. Ron had acted like a world-class wanker, and he was much better now but needed to go talk to Harry.

"He Floo’ed to your place a while back," Seamus said helpfully. "Looked pretty awful, but I suppose that’s to be expected." As though just realising that Ron had been talking and reassuring him for thirty minutes, Seamus gave him a stunned once-over. "You’ve recovered right quick, haven’t you?"

Ron was terribly antsy by this point, anxious to get home. "Yeah. Martin had me drink from him. His blood’s old and really powerful. Look, we’ll chat about it later. Thank Malfoy for me, okay? I’d’ve been a goner without all three of you."

Seamus nodded, giving Ron a strong hug before stepping back and pointing at his own neck. "Any time, mate, right? Whenever you need it. If it’s okay with Harry."

"I don’t think anything’s okay with Harry," Ron said, his thoughts and emotions a jumbled, snarled tangle. "I’ve got to go. Martin made himself scarce a while back. I think you and Malfoy will probably get some kind of gift from him for your keeping him safe during the day. Is your Floo still open?" he asked, jerking his head toward the fireplace.

"Yep. Take care of yourself, right?"

"Right. Bye, Seamus."

Moments later Ron stepped out of his own fireplace, pleasantly surprised that a few lights were on and the flat was reasonably warm. The truth was, he’d figured that Harry would be in some kind of bleak funk, sitting in the dark and brooding. Ron wasn’t scared per se, but he was worried, and he felt an inexplicable shame burrowing into his marrow. It wasn’t his fault he was like this, nor Harry’s. Seemingly their ability to cope with Ron’s relatively new reality had switched, however; now it was Ron who had reconciled himself more and more to being a vampire, helped in no small part by Martin’s appearance and responsive empathy. Harry, who had been so stalwart and almost plucky about Ron’s Changing when it had first happened, had now become inconsolable and a vexing combination of standoffish and desperately needy. Something had to happen, but it made Ron’s skin flash with heat and feel as though moths were in his stomach, clamoring to get out. 

He was nervous.

While going upstairs, he opened his mind. He felt Harry’s presence, but it was tentative, as though awaiting an invitation. As best he could, Ron made his thoughts visible so Harry would know he was welcome to them. Ron knocked on their closed bedroom door.

After a pause, Harry said, "Come in."

Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the door. Their room had been transfigured and now looked just like the Gryffindor common room, though a bit smaller. Harry sat against the couch in front of the fireplace, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, looking all the world like the Hogwarts student he had been years ago. Only the few grey strands in his hair and crystalline silver specks in his beard stubble told the true tale.

Ron divested himself of his jacket and shoes and sank down next to Harry. "Hey there." He glanced around, noticing the details, aware of how cozy and comforting it all was. He could well imagine why Harry had recreated this haven from their past. "This is nice."

Harry turned to look at him, his expression morose. "I apologise. I acted like a total fuckwit."

With a snort, Ron put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. "No, I think that I did. Add in brainless and royally bollixed, and you’ve got me covered."

"Not true." Harry slumped down a bit to be able to rest his head on Ron's shoulder. He slowly ran his hand down Ron's thigh to rest on his knee. "I've been thinking. If this had happened to me, after the initial shock of it, I probably would've done all kinds of reckless, crazy things and been arrested within a week."

"Except that hopefully I would've been able to have talked some sense into you, avoiding an embarrassing story in the _Prophet_ — 'Harry Potter: Locked Away for His Own Good.'"

There was a small, huffed laugh. "Something like that. I guess I thought I'd cope with you being a vampire with no problem, or at least no major problems. Given that rush of anger magic from before, and this out of control jealousy, I think I'm wrong."

Ron gave Harry a squeeze. "Well, for what it's worth, even Martin said he feels sorry for us. Vampires are mostly loners, but deep down they crave companionship. He says the problem is that even if they Make another vampire, even with their consent and everything, out of love, or passion, or if the mortal is dying, there's no guarantee what the person will be like once they're a vampire. An outgoing, cheerful person might become a cynical vampire and have forever, literally, to be miserable. And vice versa, though that doesn't seem to happen very often. It's all pretty depressing."

He ran his cheek against Harry's soft hair, slowly moving his face against Harry's skull, absorbing his myriad scents. Harry's fingers caressed back and forth along the inside of Ron's lower thigh, like lapping waves on a beach of denim. 

"It's not that I feel sorry for myself," Harry said thoughtfully, "or thought that I'd never lose anyone else. I'm an adult; I'm not going to suddenly become a blubbering mess. I've been to my share of funerals, and for all that Dumbledore said about death being an adventure, it's not one I'd care to know about any time soon. But this—" With his right hand, he pulled Ron's hand to his lips to kiss the bronzed, seared skin. "This is worse. I can bear it; I can, and will. But it's really fucking hard."

Ron turned to press his lips to Harry's scalp. "I know," he said into the fragrant mop of black.

For a long while they sat in silence, watching the flames in the fireplace, lost in their interwoven thoughts. Eventually the swirling question and response of silently spoken fears and reassurances slowed to a murmur. 

"Is this couch as comfortable as the one in our real common room was?" Ron asked, gently strumming his fingers against the curve of Harry's elbow.

"Hope so."

They crawled up on the couch, Ron lying on his back with Harry stretched out on top of him. Ron splayed his legs, propping his ankles on the arm of the couch. Harry shifted to get comfortable, resting his head in the crook of Ron's neck and clasping their hands together. Ron breathed deeply, drinking in the musky aromas that hovered around Harry. He was truly surprised to feel a flush in his groin, that initial heat that inevitably led to stirrings of independent action by his penis. There was no hurry, however. Ron's desire for Harry slowly throbbed in his arousal. As far as Ron was concerned, it could do so for ages, as long as he could breathe in Harry's warmth and complex mysteries, all summed up in one pure, distilled word: _mate_.

Harry began to undulate above him, deliberately sensual as he slid as much of his skin against Ron's as possible. Ron was at a distinct disadvantage, wearing jeans and a near vintage long-sleeved Cannons t-shirt. At the first feeling of Harry's erection on his, Ron let out a scudding sigh, its unevenness reflecting his body's jerky enthusiasm. Harry's lips suckled on his neck before traversing his jaw, to Ron's waiting mouth.

_"Yes."_

Ron's mind was still exposed, any barriers unfurled. Harry's tongue danced around Ron's lips before Ron sucked it in, stretching out his own tongue to stroke alongside the savoury muscle. Each thrust and parry intensified the stiffness of Ron's erection, chafing against his pants. He clutched Harry's fingers, devouring Harry's demanding, possessive kisses.

_"Wantneedwant you so much."_

Harry sat up and back, allowing Ron room to pull of his shirt as Harry did the same. There was no humour in Harry's eyes as he unbuttoned Ron's flies and pulled down the denim, but there was promise — verdant, grasping and willful. Ron's eyes rolled back as his lids closed, arse clenched and hips raised upward as Harry swallowed his cock. Harry was a demon, all wicked tongue and lips sucking and teasing, teething Ron's pulsing, sensitive skin until Ron gasped, his hands latched on to the couch arm behind his head.

There was a cold smear of emptiness around his erection. Ron's eyes flew open, looking down his body at his ivory cock, bobbing in exposed air. Harry had padded over to a small chest of drawers Ron knew had never existed in their Hogwarts common room when they were in school. He rummaged around before selecting a small pot and shutting the drawer. He tossed a cushion against the wall of the fireplace before sitting down and resting against it, legs unabashedly wide and his feet planted on the floor. Ron was utterly captivated. Still holding on to the couch, he watched as Harry unscrewed the lid to the unguent and scooped a healthy dollop with his middle three fingers.

Harry played with himself, running his fingers around his entrance. Ron's moan was raw and ragged as he focused on Harry's self-ministrations. Their minds were still open to each other, so Ron knew full well that Harry was toying with Ron, both putting on a show as well as satisfying himself while Ron watched. Harry ensnared Ron's gaze as he eased all three fingers in at once, pushing them in and pulling out partway several times. Ron let his right hand go down to grasp at his cock, fisting himself in time to Harry's slow self-fucking. His fangs nipped his lower lip as he saw Harry crook his fingers inside his tight channel, nudging his prostate as he let his left leg drop to the floor. In and out Harry massaged his muscles, stretching himself out as Ron pushed his leaking cock into his own palm. 

_"Come here."_

Harry pushed his fingers as far as they could reach, closing his eyes as he wriggled them around.

_"Gods, come here NOW. I want to be inside you, so deep."_

_"You will."_ Harry's eyes flashed open, the desire radiating off of him so that his neck and chest grew pink. After removing his fingers, he walked over to Ron and put a hand at the base of Ron's erection, tugging on it with purpose. "Floor. No room for my legs on the couch."

Ron complied quickly, noticing as he did that magically there was now a plush, maroon carpet on which to lie. Harry hovered over his lap, the knowledge of over a decade of lovemaking infused in every motion as he leaned over, placing his hands on the floor near the hollows of Ron's arms. With love and lust he stared into Ron's eyes, daring him to look away. Ron didn't. Harry made sure the head of Ron's cock was poised at his slicked entrance, loosened enough so there would be no pain. He lowered himself inch by sweetly tortuous inch until he sat, his softly furred sacs resting on Ron's pelvis, his legs folded alongside Ron's thighs. With a contented smile, Harry tensed his inner muscles. Ron groaned at the tight heat constricting around his shaft. Harry raised himself up before pushing down again, sheathing Ron in his welcoming body. 

_"So good, so fucking good, Harry, so tight, love you, oh fuck."_ Ron thrust his overwhelming thoughts into Harry even as he strained physically to do the same. His hands on Harry's backside, he let Harry take his own pace. Harry rode Ron vigorously, his narrow arse crashing against Ron's groin again and again as he took Ron's erection to the hilt. He paused, panting, to drape over Ron, kissing him deeply. "I want to be on your lap, and for you to fuck me from behind," he said in a husky voice before sucking on Ron's tongue. "And I want you to drink from me when you come. Please, Ron."

_"Love you more than anything, Harry, anything,"_ Ron said silently as he kissed Harry with renewed passion.

Harry eased away from Ron so they could get resituated on the couch. This was a position they'd not come up with on their own; from time to time one or the other would buy a titillating magazine to add some spice to their intimacies. Harry had been struck by the blokes going at it in this manner, and it well suited their differences in height.

_"Not long, you're so hot and wet,"_ Ron warned as he pushed his hard cock back into Harry.

_"Fuck me, Ron, wank me, want your hands all over me, want you to take me, need me, need me, need me."_ The last two words became grunts of supplication as Harry egged Ron on. Ron pounded into him, throwing his hand in front of Harry's mouth for him to lick the palm before Ron grasped Harry's turgid cock. He wasn't gentle— none of this was, but neither was it brutal, or desperate. They were focused, their minds locked as their impending orgasms flew at them, unable to be staved off given the intensity of their coupling.

"I’m gonna come, Ron, fuck!" Harry yelled.

His right hand milking Harry's shuddering release, Ron pulled Harry into him, his left arm crossing Harry's chest as he sank his fangs into the salty flesh.

_"Delicious love mine oh Harry, oh Harry, comingcoming."_ Ron was a geyser, his orgasm erupting into Harry's body even as he drew in Harry's blood. The rusty wine taste of it filled his mouth and flowed down his throat. Overcome by the emotions that had been charging through his heart, Ron felt tears prickling his eyes, but they didn’t fall. Harry grew very still, curled against Ron's chest like a piece of damp parchment. When Ron felt he’d quaffed all he should, he eased away from Harry’s neck, making sure the puncture wounds were closed. In front of him, Harry took deep breaths, sated and probably tired, his softening penis still cradled in Ron’s hand.

Ron rested his chin over Harry’s shoulder, pulling them as close together as possible. Harry was so warm; droplets of sweat slid down his back over his phoenix tattoo to diffuse into Ron’s fiery chest hair. "I love you so much, Harry," Ron murmured above Harry’s collarbone.

Harry stretched backward, reaching behind him to grab at Ron’s back, his palms splayed against Ron’s shoulder blades. "I love you too, Ron," he said wistfully. "We’re meant to be together. You’ve always been there, always been my best mate."

Ron’s spent cock picked that least opportune moment to begin its inexorable exit from Harry’s arse. He held Harry as they adjusted their positions, not minding at all the warm rush of fluid that seeped into his lap. Sex held a sacred scent unto itself, and Ron marveled at it with a temporarily untroubled spirit.

"I always will be."


	9. Chapter 8

The grounds around The Burrow were a riot of jabbering family, spouses and children. Harry and Ron had opted to fly to the house, casting secure warming charms to stave off the winter chill combined with extended time in higher altitudes so they weren't seen.

"Ron! Harry! There you are!" Molly clucked as they landed near the broomshed. "I was beginning to worry. Portkey's good for another twenty minutes, though. How _are_ you?" she said all in a rush while hugging Harry and Ron in turn.

"Quite well, Molly, thanks," Harry said, attempting to subdue his hopelessly windblown hair.

"Oh Ron," Molly said with concern, her hands still clasped on his upper arms. "Are you—"

"I'm healing," Ron said, taking off his mittens to show his still golden hands. "Between Martin and Harry, a vampire couldn't ask for more."

Molly's expression passed from worried to relieved.

"Mum, we're okay. And Charlie's a nutter for doing all this at night to accommodate me. Harry and I could've just come late."

"He wanted all of the family to be there for his fortieth. I'm so glad you're here," she reiterated, hugging the two again for good measure.

"Uncle Ron! Uncle Harry!" Percy's son Xavier bounded exuberantly up to them, raising his arms so one or the other of them would pick him up.

"Hullo, Xave!" Harry said. He took one hand and Ron took the other to swing him up in the air. The boy squealed with delight as he was heaved upward between them. Drawn by the racket, Percy soon appeared.

"Ron. Harry," he said, looking apprehensively at them, but trying to mask it. This only made his discomfort all the more obvious. "Xavier, don't be a bother to your uncles."

He'd lingered a moment on the last word. Percy had only grudgingly accepted Ron and Harry's relationship, though it wasn't because he was opposed to homosexuality, to Ron's surprise. In fact, Percy's closest friend and best man, Oliver Wood, was a most dashing and unrepentant shirtlifter. Percy had stumbled over the words when Ron had forced him past his reluctance to explain his lack of enthusiasm for Ron's choice of partner. To Percy, it wasn't that they were both blokes, it was that what they had seemed akin to incest. Ron and Harry had been so close, so like brothers, to Percy's mind the evolution of their relationship was unnatural, and therefore doomed to failure.

"He's not a bother," Harry insisted with a grin, tickling the auburn-haired boy until he became a writhing, giggling pile on the ground.

"Stop!" Xavier gasped and Harry released him.

"You looking forward to seeing your uncle Charlie and all those dragons?" Ron asked as Percy tried to put his son's clothes back in some semblance of order.

"Oh yes!" Xavier enthused. "This is my first trip to see him, or go anywhere that far away."

"Everyone gather round, if you can, I've just a few things to tell you before we go," Molly pronounced to the group.

"Come along, Xavier," Percy said, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, Xavier did as he was bidden.

"I'll sit by you for the fireworks, okay?" he asked, looking first at Ron and then up at Percy.

"I'd quite like that," Ron said.

"I do hope so," Harry exclaimed at the same time, earning a big smile from Xavier.

"That will be fine," Percy agreed, tugging at his son. "Come along. Traveling by portkey is disconcerting at the best of times, much less when it's with an entire convoy of _our_ family."

"What does disconcerting mean?" Xavier's voice faded into the melee as he was towed away.

Ron turned to look at Harry. "Sure you're up for this?"

"Oh please." Harry slid his arm around Ron's waist, pulling him in close. "One of my all-time favourite memories is our handfasting, with all of your family there. Our family," he clarified, running his hands through Ron's hair over his ears. "Rugrats underfoot, dancing, chaos, the twins in their indecent trousers, all of it. All of it," he murmured against Ron's temple.

"Oy, your honeymoon's long over!" George yelled, snapping Ron from the warm, contented feelings that had been blooming in his chest.

"Get your poncey arses over here," Fred added. "Save your snogging for later."

"We are," George said, winking.

"Your history with birds is horrible!" Ron spouted off. "If you think you two are going to find some unsuspecting lasses at the Preserve, then you're really delusional. Don't you reckon Charlie's warned all of them about you?"

"One can only hope," Fred said with a cheeky grin.

"Don't you know it's the bad, dangerous blokes that women go for?" George went on, smirking.

"Like you, but not a sappy poof."

"And not potentially life-threatening."

"I don't know, George. When you don't bathe for days on end, your odour's pretty deadly."

"You're one to talk."

Harry and Ron walked hand in hand behind the twins, listening to their banter all the way to the portkey. In the way only Harry knew how, he had Ron calmed down and enjoying himself by the time they arrived in Romania.

It was truly an amazing spectacle. Booths were set up around the main grounds, housing food and drink of wide variety. The mouth-watering aromas of food both Slavic and British in origin wafted through the air, mingling with myriad accents of the guests in attendance. Charlie had invited everyone from his life, it seemed; former classmates from Hogwarts, tentmates from the War, and his extended family, both biological and those at the Preserve. There was live music, scads of birthday cake, and, of course, Fred and George's fireworks. Percy had dutifully found Ron and Harry, entrusting Xavier to their care during the explosive extravaganza.

Afterwards Ron left Harry and Xavier to go in search of the birthday boy — man — to thank him again for having his festivities after dark so Ron could attend.

"Of course, you daft berk!" Charlie said jubilantly, his bone-crushing hug making Ron's ribs creak more than usual due to the mickleberry liqueur shots Charlie had been imbibing through the night. "It's all the more time to celebrate! Think I've been up nearly thirty hours straight, now!"

"You're insane!"

"Too right!" Charlie said, nodding. He stood back a ways, looking more seriously at Ron. "You doing okay? I'm sorry I didn't write or anything."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Merlin's balls. I don't know what I would've done if you had. You never write." He tugged his stocky brother further away from Fred and George and a trio of seemingly captivated young women. "I'm doing better now than before, but I think I have a ways to go. Haven't killed anybody. Yet." He shrugged.

"There're plenty of vampires 'round here, so they say. I haven't seen any. Don't want to. No offense," Charlie hastily added, scratching at the encircling Snegbog tattoo on his bicep. The dragon appeared to appreciate the attention, stretching its wings and preening.

"None taken. How does it feel to be forty?"

"Absolutely fucking brilliant."

"Charlie! I thought you'd said you weren't going to bring up our sex life." The sentence was attached to a leggy blonde who had materialised behind Charlie. Her accent was unfamiliar, but Ron liked her well enough when she winked at him and could tell she was taking the piss with Charlie, who was enjoying it.

"Ah, love, it's not like that," Charlie insisted, his grin so wide Ron reckoned that Charlie must have extra muscles in his face. "Kylie, this is Ron. Younger brother."

"I'd never have guessed," she drawled, rippling her fingers over the ginger chest hair that peeked out from Charlie's leather vest. "He looks less shifty than those two," she went on, eyeing George and Fred. "Kylie St. Christopher. Pleasure."

She reached out and shook Ron's hand before resuming her encapsulating lean around Charlie. Kylie was easily half a foot taller than Charlie, whose smile had reached nearly blinding incandescence.

"Beg your pardon, but where are you from? I can't place your accent," Ron said, hoping he wasn't being an idiot. Nobody had told him anything about Charlie seeing someone, but Ron'd had a few other things to deal with in recent weeks.

"Australia."

"Kylie's not been here too long, but already I don't know how we got on without her."

Kylie affectionately nibbled on Charlie's ear. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she purred with her oddly flattened vowels.

"Nice to meet you." Ron was ready to take his leave, sure that their mum would be over any minute to give Charlie's foreign girlfriend a thorough going-over.

"Same." She paused, looking carefully at him. "There's something different about you," she said, standing at full height. She placed her hands protectively on Charlie's shoulders in a gesture not as laughable as it could have seemed.

"Ron was Changed into a vampire," Charlie said, leaning his head back to rest against Kylie's sternum. "Not long ago. Then _Obliviated_ , the poor bastard."

"I'll be a devil's dowager," Kylie stated, her eyes growing wide. "Isn't all this awfully tempting for you, then?" She gestured at all of the guests thronging about.

"It's a bit complicated," Ron said obligingly. "Look, I've got to find my partner. Glad you're helping Charlie have a good birthday."

"Someone's got to make sure this old dodger has fun!" Kylie said, ending with a yelp as Charlie swatted her backside.

"Ronald! A moment, please?" A mild voice caught Ron's ear and he turned, seeing one of the three women who had been with the twins.

"Do I know you?" Ron asked a bit stupidly. Of course he didn't know her. George gave Ron a blistering look, apparently displeased that she had sought Ron out. Ron mentally gave him a two-fingered gesture and focused his attentions on this new foreigner.

"No, but we have something in common," she said with what sounded like an Eastern European accent. "Let us come away where there is less noise."

Ron followed her to a bench set up on the central promenade. "My name is Valerica. I am a junior herbologist here at the Preserve," she said, introducing herself as she sat down. For a moment Ron found himself absorbed in her bow-shaped lips, glamoured or painted a deep cranberry colour.

"Ron. Weasley, obviously," he deadpanned, gesturing at his hair.

She quirked a smile. "Obviously. I do not wish to keep you from wild Charlie and your family, and I have no idea how long you plan to stay in our beautiful country. I just wished to tell you that I have your kind in my family," she said conspiratorially, curling her upper lip. Valerica's pearly teeth were straight and flat.

"Vampires?" Ron clarified, opting not to show his mostly-retreated fangs.

"Yes. My great-great-great aunt."

Ron nodded, wondering where the conversation was headed.

"Well," Valerica continued, smoothing the iridescent velvet of her robes sleeve, "you could meet her. If you wished."

"Not to be rude, but why on earth should I want to do that?" Ron shrugged. "Thanks anyway. It's nice to be around someone else not biased, that's pretty rare where I come from."

"As I said, I am no stranger to your kind. Marilena does not frighten me, as she does others, and neither do you." Her expression became pensive. "It is a lonely life, that much I know, though she has told me she once had a companion. I only thought that if you wished, you could meet another who both drinks blood and is a _vrajit_. A magical person, like me."

"There you are!" Harry's voice carried from Ron's left. He turned and saw Harry approaching, Xavier perched on his shoulders, his small hands buried in Harry's shock of hair.

"Here I am." Out of habit, Ron lowered his thought barriers. As he looked at Harry, seeing how happy Harry was and how much Xavier was enjoying himself, Ron was struck with a bolt of anguish that seared his heart. _I'll never have children with you._

The depth of emotion behind Ron's silent outburst was so strong Harry grimaced. He held on to Xavier's shins and looked concernedly at Ron. _We never could. Are you okay?_

_No, I'm not okay, I'm really fucking angry,_ Ron sent back, totally disregarding common courtesy of introducing Harry and Xave to Valerica. _We might could've found a way before, somehow, but now I can't. Vampires **can't**. We're sterile. I need to get out of here._

"Hello. My name is Valerica. I'm a herbologist here at the Preserve," Valerica said, standing up and reaching her hand to Harry's.

"Harry Potter. Ron's husband."

Valerica gave the two of them a confused look until the understanding dawned on her face. "Oh," she said, pursing her lips.

"I'm Xavier." He waved from his spot on Harry's shoulders.

"Hi. Nice to meet you. You must be related to Charlie and Ron."

Xavier nodded vigorously. "They're my uncles. My father's name is Percy."

"Hey Xave, I think that your uncle Ron and I need to go have a little talk. Mind if I put you down?" Harry didn't give the youth a chance to reply, he simply kneeled down so Xavier could slide off to the ground.

"Valerica has a distant relative who's a vampire," Ron said, trying not to be completely rude.

"I've offered to take him to see her."

Harry gently pushed Xavier toward the crowd, seeing Ginny wave him over. He stood next to Ron, running his hand down Ron's forearm before intertwining their fingers. "I don't know that right now is the best time."

Ron's anger and libido seemed to be unfortunately convoluted. The rancour he felt about his situation made him want to do something possessive and physical with Harry. Forgetting how unguarded his mind was, he let a vision surface of Harry and him going off to the edge of the party, hidden off in the shadows, and him sucking Harry off.

Harry turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow and squeezed Ron's hand. _Works for me, if that's really what you want to do._

"Okay," Valerica said, obviously disappointed. "I only thought that since your kind is rare, you would want to meet another."

"Some other time," Harry said firmly.

Out of curiosity, Ron focused on his vampire telepathy, sending his presence out before acknowledging just how dangerous that could be. His thoughts wandered out in the night, but he didn't perceive any other preternatural beings. Martin had strongly cautioned him against that, so he quickly pulled his vampiric flare back to himself.

"Thank you," Ron said, regret in his voice. "I'm not my best right now. Nothing against your great-great-great aunt or anything."

"It's all right. I should go say good-bye to Charlie. Have a good night."

"You too," Harry said, watching the petite woman walk into the bedlam before turning back to Ron. "Should we go somewhere a bit more private?"

"Please," Ron sighed. His emotions bubbled and churned within him. One second he wanted to hit something, the next he wanted to snog Harry senseless, and the next he wanted to collapse in a sobbing heap.

_What happened?_ Harry asked, his unspoken voice anxious.

_I don't really know._ They walked to the perimeter of the celebrations, still hand in hand. _It was like these feelings came out of nowhere. You and Xavier looked so happy, and it just hit me. Like a blinding sign had flashed— You can't have this. Ever._

"But we've talked about it, a while back," Harry said concernedly. "I thought you were okay with us being together and, by default, not having children."

"I was," Ron groaned. "You just looked so _good_ with Xave. We could have found a way, through a surrogate, or maybe some highly illegal spell. You being you, you could have done it."

"Ron." Harry's voice was solemn. "The only thing I know about parenting is what _not_ to do."

"That's not true," Ron said sulkily, steering them into a dark shelter, near a shimmering fence that indicated the barrier to a dragon pen. "You've been around my mum and dad. We all turned out pretty well. I mean, even Percy, and the twins, they're not absolutely unbearable."

"Ron," Harry pleaded, enfolding him in his arms. "We have each other. We always have."

"But I'll have to live for so long, and you won't be there!"

"Having a child wouldn't change that. It might only make it worse," Harry said, doing his best to be consoling.

Ron didn't want to hear it. Sorrow had won out in Ron's emotional battle, but he still wished to claim Harry. He moved out of Harry's embrace to get at Harry's trousers, unfastening them as he dropped to his knees. He pulled them down along with Harry's boxers, emitting a bereft moan as he saw Harry's drawn up, quiescent cock.

"Ron, please don't," Harry said in a strangled voice. "I don't ever want to be thinking about sex and you being miserable at the same time."

"But I want you. I need you Harry, need you," Ron murmured against the soft flesh, holding on to Harry's buttocks as he rubbed his face in the delicious, musky heat and curly hair. "Love you," he said, kissing across Harry's tangy skin as he began to cry.

"Ron, stop. We'll be okay," Harry said, his thickened baritone belying that he was on the verge of tears himself.

_Countless lifetimes, it's not fucking fair!_ Ron raged. He continued lavishing kisses on Harry's shaft, though Harry's comments for him to quit became more and more anguished.

_Get hold of yourself, Ron,_ Harry warned, pushing Ron away from his groin.

_But Harry…_ Ron refused to be swayed, his grasp on Harry's arse becoming bruising. _Please, let me. Need to know you still think I'm sexy._

_Not like this, you're not._

"Harry!" The word was a tortured wail.

_STOP._

Harry's Occlumency flew up, shutting Ron out of Harry's thoughts entirely. A burst of defensive magic poured out of him and Ron hurtled backward, crashing against the dragon pen barrier in a barrage of red sparks and searing pain. He flew forward and up as his instincts rushed through him. He hovered for a moment, violently shaking his head as though to fling off the spell's residue before drifting back down to the ground. Harry was fully dressed again, his wand leveled at Ron.

Harry stood as straight as a monolith, the kinetic magic energy radiating from him. How had Ron managed to forget just how powerful a Wizard Harry was? Despair threatened to trample him, but his own coalescing vampiric and wizarding forces forced him to remain attentive and somewhat aloof.

"I can't stay around you like this. I'll say good bye to Charlie, and your mum, and then I'm going home. I won't change the wards, even though I'm half inclined to. What you do now is up to you."

Shoving his wand up his robes' sleeve, Harry turned around and strode back to the gathering. Ron gaped as Harry walked away, feeling as though nettles were burrowing into his very soul. Yet he remained there, feeling his preternatural body healing the wounds he'd suffered running into the pen barrier. A soothing, icy clarity seeped through him. Ron could bring nothing but death into the world now; death, or a sensual representation of it. Unbidden, the location of an isolated hillside area became manifest in Ron's awareness. It was a seedy haven near a ruined castle where gay Muggles of a desperate sort gathered. Lupin had spoken of it, and with regret, but Ron didn't care. He focused his thoughts on a small Hebridean harbour and Apparated to Stornoway.

* * * * *

An hour or so before dawn, Ron sat on the beach at Sandaig, soaked to the skin, feet in the frigid water. The merest hint of moon clung to the night sky as Ron recounted his travesties, one after another. Five Muggles nearly drained, but sent on their way with memory and Confundus charms. One unfortunate soul, so strung out on Muggle drugs even Ron could tell he wouldn't last the night, now dead, his blood thumping in Ron's veins. Ron had lurked in the shadows, waiting until he saw a man with a dim likeness to Harry. He'd called the hapless youth to him with unspoken, cajoling entreaties. Ron had fucked him with all he had, leaving the young man gasping and bruised, his denims trapped at his knees and bite wounds on his shoulders that would be difficult to explain. Despite acting from within a maw of pain, Ron had cast several healing charms on his victim before he fled.

Now Ron was miserable, hyper alert with so much blood in him, only to be called to sleep in so many minutes. He knew full well that he had to go home, had to seal himself away from the sun. His former life was sundered from him, and the aching melancholy of it made him feel as though his very spirit was unraveling.

"S'pose it's time to test the wards, or die trying," he said blackly, wriggling his feet under the water.

His pride worked to get him upright, clothes dried, and safely Apparated to his and Harry's flat. He paused in the entryway, all of his senses primed to Harry's whereabouts. Their home couldn't have been more vacant.

Ron trudged to the kitchen where he poured himself a firewhiskey. It didn't assuage him in the least, but the scent was comforting, as pathetic as that was. He took the bottle and his glass to the table and collapsed in a chair. The coming dawn tugged reletlessly on him. After his incident at the Manor, he knew not to treat it with disrespect. He drank another shot, at which point his gaze was drawn to the incomprehensible sight of Harry's handfasting band, resting alone on a piece of parchment.

His eyes blurred with tears, Ron pulled the paper towards him, reading Harry's atrocious scrawl.

_We bound ourselves to each other, to whatever end._  
  
If I am to see you again, it can only be because you have decided and set your heart on Changing me, as well. I can't live with you like this. I need to know what you feel, and live immortally as you do now.


Ron crumpled the parchment in his hand, kissing the ring before he slipped it into his trousers' pocket. His feet thudded on the floor as he took himself to his small sepulcher. There he lay down on his warded bed, cast a locking spell on the door, and was gratefully claimed by sleep.


	10. Chapter 9

  
Author's notes:

Thanks to Wikipedia for providing the background for Martin once he let me know he'd been an Exchequer. 

My thanks to you who are reading this story; your enthusiasm and effusive comments make me want to be the best writer I can be. Thank you, thank you! 

* * *

Wisps of clouds like smeared bruises blew across the sky. The full moon was so bright it seemed to vibrate as Ron stared at it, aware more than ever of his increased faculties. Ron was trying his level best not to be so absorbed in the sound of every churning wave, the eerie moans as the wind rushed over the sand and grasses, attempting to tune things out the way he used to. Unfortunately, even half a bottle of Ogden's had almost no effect on him. If he wanted to feel intoxicated, he'd have to feed on someone who'd spent the evening at the local pub, and he was far too miserable and weak to do that. He kept drinking anyway. When he couldn't stand the pulsing aura of the moon he sat up and brought his wrist to his mouth. He drug across his veins with his fangs and drank, but his own blood gave no relief to his thirst.  
  
Ron was no martyr; he wasn't on a hunger strike. He'd simply restricted himself to drinking the Ministry approved blood-like substance since Harry had left, five days prior. He'd gone to Sandaig with its isolated house, opening his vampiric mind and sending what amounted to distress calls to Martin, night after night. The other vampire had yet to reply, and Ron was beginning to sink into a morass of despair. Ron couldn't Change Harry, that was madness. Ron had simply gotten overwhelmed and Harry had snapped. Surely he would come back to his senses and recognise that despite Ron's melodrama, Harry had been correct in saying they would be okay. His note, however, indicated otherwise, and Harry's mental presence remained closed to Ron. Ron had absolutely no idea where he was. That was the worst part of it, he decided, fingering Harry's ring, now on a chain around his neck. He was so dreadfully alone.  
  
Seamus had owled Ron a clipping from the _Prophet_ the day after Charlie's birthday party that proclaimed Harry had suddenly resigned from his coaching position.  
  
"What the bloody fuck is this?" he'd written. "Fire call me NOW with some explanations."  
  
Ron hadn't replied. He'd thrown a few things in a bag, mementoes, mostly, locked and warded the flat, and flown his Skyrunner out to the island.  
  
 _Martin!_ he sent out now into the mockingly luminous night. _Merlin, Martin, I need you! Come find me. I don't know what to do._  
  
He looked down at his lap, at the Ogdens, and his wrist, which had already healed.  
  
 _Fucking immortality._ He brought his arm up again, tearing more savagely at the skin and trying to relish the blood as it filled his mouth, to no avail. He took another swig of whiskey, able to absorb the burn of the liquor if nothing else, and threw himself back onto the ground. The glistering stars shone down dispassionately on him. Ron watched with detached interest as the gouged skin on his arm knit itself together, as though sewn up from the inside by the tiniest of tailors.  
  
 _Ronald._  
  
Ron sat up, shaking. _Martin?!  
  
I'm en route._ His precise British accent was the most beautiful, lilting music Ron had ever heard. _You will cease harming yourself. Understood?_  
  
Ron nodded vigorously in his solitude. _Yes! Where are you?  
  
On the mainland. I'll be with you shortly,_ he promised. _Have you been there long?  
  
Five days,_ Ron said mournfully.  
  
 _My apologies,_ Martin said, the regret obvious even in his telepathy. _Please remain where you are.  
  
I will._  
  
After thirty minutes passed, fear, then anger jettisoned through Ron. Feelings of abandonment rose up, made all the worse as he heard the approach of a Muggle car. He cast a spell to disguise the state of the house and hastily erected a set of strong wards.  
  
 _Ronald. I cannot get to you if you put up barriers to me.  
  
You're in the car?_ Ron whipped out his wand to dismantle the wards.  
  
 _I can fly a great distance, but I'd already come a long way and am not at full strength. This seemed the fastest way. I'm merely,_ he paused, _borrowing this. I'll return it before sunrise._  
  
Even as Ron heard the sentence, the automobile came to a stop in what was ostensibly the yard. Martin got out of the car as Ron stood up, his limbs rubbery as he stumbled over to him.  
  
"Martin, he left. Harry left me," he cried, clutching the vampire's tweed cape.  
  
"Why did he leave?" Martin asked as he drew Ron to him, rubbing his hands over Ron's back.  
  
"We had a fight. No, it was more than that." Ron sniffed, trying to pull himself together now that he was in Martin's stabilising presence. "Emotionally I lost it and nearly forced myself on him. Sexually," he choked. "Harry threw me off— he's really powerful, much more than I am. I think he went a bit mad. He left his joining band and a note that said I can't see him again unless I Turn him."  
  
Martin cradled Ron's head, running his fingers softly against Ron's scalp. "I don't believe he fully knows what he's requesting of you."  
  
They stood in silence, the wind tearing around them. Martin's physical being soothed Ron immeasurably and he sank against him.  
  
 _You've not been feeding properly,_ Martin gently rebuked. _Let's go inside and you may drink some from me. Then we shall talk.  
  
Okay._  
  
Martin turned and waved toward the car and the driver's side door closed. They walked to the small house and shut themselves in, Ron casting an _Incendio_ to get a fire going.  
  
 _Come here, fledgling._  
  
Ron approached Martin, still surprised at how normal he appeared, except for his eyes, of course. A small smile quirked the vampire's lips.  
  
 _I've been remiss in telling you more about me. When I was a mortal, I had another name. I was Baron Martin Cottington, and I was a banker. Well, I served as the Chancellor of the Exchequer, to be precise.  
  
I don't know that that is,_ Ron said, his silent thoughts transforming to an audible sigh as he nosed at Martin's neck. _Why'd you change your name?  
  
I was no longer myself. I'll explain more later, my young one. Now you must feed._  
  
Ron mouthed the smooth skin, emulating a kiss before sinking in his fangs. He sensed more of Martin as he drank, his worried cares for Ron and other, more concealed musings. Ron was careful not to feast for long. Martin's blood was deliciously potent, the ambrosial liquid velvet sliding down his throat in an invigorating stream. He drew back, licking at the wounds even though Martin healed more quickly than Ron.  
  
 _Thank you. I don't know how I made it before you adopted me._  
  
Martin caressed Ron's cheekbone with his thumb. _I've said this before: you, Ronald, are powerful and strong. You were certainly selected with good reason. You shall be as a hawk trained by a beloved falconer before ultimately being set free._  
  
"I don't understand," Ron said helplessly. "I'm clever but not that clever, I've got a wicked temper at times, and I've never done anything extraordinary. Well, being bonded to Harry is pretty extraordinary. Was."  
  
Martin could tell how morose Ron felt. "Let's go sit by the fire."  
  
Ron collapsed on one side of a couch while Martin draped his cape over a chair and sat next to Ron. "I have been a vampire for a very long time, but I shall never forget my years as a mortal," Martin said gravely. "I married, and had children, though they all died before me. I spent time in Spain, even serving as ambassador and acting as an English agent. For a decade I was able to keep my Making a secret from those around me, even the Jesuits of Valladolid with whom I had residence before staging my death."  
  
Ron looked at him, at this unassuming, Muggle vampire with somewhat crooked teeth and thick, grey-laced brown hair, and marveled that he'd been Changed as well. "How have you kept from going batty after all this time, if you were alone?"  
  
"Did I ever say that I'd spent three hundred and sixty-six years alone?" Martin's blue eyes gleamed in the flickering light of the fire.  
  
"No, but you hadn't mentioned anybody. Look, I am really interested in your life; it's been much longer than mine. Even without this, though, Wizards live longer than Muggles. I might've lived to be 300 or so, depending."  
  
"Tell me, Ronald. Your Harry. He's different from you somehow, am I correct?"  
  
Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean? We're both Wizards, both fancy blokes obviously. Hey- why doesn't that bother you? Especially if you were born back in the 1500s."  
  
A gentle smile traversed Martin's lined face. "Vampires are usually sensual creatures, though there are exceptions, of course. The actual intimate acts, and consequently the gender of mortals with whom one might decide to do such, have less and less importance as the years and decades go on." He looked knowingly at Ron. "Even back in my time I knew of men who engaged in pederasty. Two men, two women, a roomful of both kinds, all together— they are all mortals, they will all die. What they do with each other is not my business and certainly does not require judgment on my part."  
  
He reached out to take Ron's hand, the gesture paternal more than anything else. "I do worry for you, though I must admit my motives are not purely altruistic. You're endowed with an indomitable spirit, and you and I and the others of our kind will need to share these Islands. Back to Harry," he said, squeezing Ron's hand. "He is powerful, you say, yet his energies are different."  
  
"He's very power…" Ron's voice tailed off. "Oh. He's a half-blood. That's what you meant by different. How on earth would you be able to tell that? Even Wizards can't tell by looking."  
  
"Vampires view the world differently on many levels from mortals, and your kind, albeit long-lived and magical, are still mortal. Your auras have a different sheen, if you will. I've known your thoughts at times, but I cannot see through your eyes. This leaves me doubly uncertain as to how to counsel you. I've lived for a very long time, but even the wise don't have all the answers. Why do you think your Harry is acting so rashly?"  
  
"I don't know." Ron slumped into the couch, listlessly holding on to Martin's hand. "He took my Turning really well at first, and then things switched. I was doing all right with it, and he wasn't. It's not jealousy, I know that. We can choose to hear each other's thoughts— you witnessed that that first night you showed up."  
  
Ron lolled his head to look over at Martin. "I don't think it matters," he said with a heavy sigh. "Even if I could stalk Harry somehow, and Merlin knows it'd be all too easy for me to want to try it, he's so bloody willful he'll make our lives hell until he gets what he wants. But he doesn't really want this, any more than I did."  
  
Ron paused in his tirade, trying to organise his thoughts so they stopped resembling a Cannons' game plan. "I mean, he can't. He's seen what it's like. No more sunlight, ostracized by most people, surviving on blood, for Merlin's sake, no job. Well, he quit his anyway. Still! It's forever, or until you go raving and burn yourself," he said, shuddering. "And you were the one who told me that being Turned can bring out the absolute worst in a person. What if I made him a vampire and he became really jaded, and stopped seeing the value in life? He could be another Vol—" Ron cleared his throat. "Be like Voldemort. He might drink to survive but also drain his victims for the fun of it. I'd kill him if that happened." Ron's voice was steely.  
  
"Now I think you see why I said your Harry doesn't truly know what he's asking of you. Come here, fledgling." Martin's expression was one of both patience and pity, and Ron felt himself drawn to the comfort of the older vampire. He sprawled across the couch, resting his head in Martin's lap as though he were a child. Security and serenity emanated from Martin, allowing Ron to continue releasing the torrent of thoughts that had been plaguing him for days.  
  
"I don't want to live without him, but something in me just knows it’s not right for me to be the one to Turn him, if anyone does. Can you do it?" He twisted his neck, looking balefully up at Martin. "Would you? I'm not completely sure how it's done, seeing as how I was Obliviated. But you're not a Wizard," he said more to himself than Martin, lowering his head. "What if it didn't work? What if Harry turned into some horrible half-vampire? What if he became a Squib? What if there's some slew of spells that go along with this you don't know about, because you're a Muggle? What if Harry ends up hating me no matter what?"  
  
The last sentence was a whisper, unwilling to leave Ron's throat though he had to say it. Ron needed to get some bollocks, and now. No matter if he never saw Harry again, if all he had from this point on was his handfasting band… Ron's hand trailed up to the chain and he held the cold metal in his palm. He wasn't going to go build a fucking pyre out on this bloody island and burn himself to death because Harry was being a childish, self-centered, out of his sodding gourd of a head idiot.  
  
He watched the cheerful flames in silence. With his preternatural vision, Ron pondered the depths of yellow, even intense blue where the fire was at its hottest. All at once he recognised that he'd closed most of his mind to Martin, which hadn't been his intent. He pictured the filmy covering dissolving, allowing Martin to hear his higher level thoughts.  
  
 _It's all right, Ronald. You are probably right to protect yourself. You've been expressing yourself quite clearly, and for that I am grateful.  
  
Will you? Would you?  
  
Will I Make your Harry one of our kind?  
  
Yes._  
  
The silence thickened as Martin struggled with his thoughts. They were mostly shut off from Ron, though he knew innately that the older vampire was very troubled. Ron hadn't beat around the bush; he'd demanded a yes or no answer to what was a nefariously complicated question. He turned onto his back so he could look into Martin's face.  
  
"Do you love me?" Ron asked, suddenly insecure.  
  
 _Of course, youngling. As I've said before, you're not Made by me, which perhaps is for the best. Oftentimes those whom we Make become closed to us. We can no longer hear them directly, as you and I can, and you and your Harry, when he's not shut himself off from you._  
  
"I'm disinclined to say yes to your request," Martin continued aloud, rubbing at his temple in an endearingly mortal gesture, "for myriad reasons. I've known of your kind for at least two centuries, but have been quite content to dwell in my Muggle realms, as you would call them. Frankly, Making another is astonishingly easy. You drink from the other until he is on the brink of death, then you offer your blood; three cycles is enough. Intent and desire for the beloved is usually the motivating factor. With your kind, however, I simply don't know." He shook his head. Looking down at Ron, he lowered his hand to pull the handfasting ring from Ron's hand, rubbing it between his thumb and forefingers. "Is your past joining worth the risk of creating a potentially miserable, quite powerful immortal, who may or may not turn on you once it's done?"  
  
Through blurred vision, Ron looked at the ring, a narrower version of his own. "I don't know," he croaked. "I need to go out. Go walk about a bit, think through things."  
  
Martin nodded sagely, releasing the band. Ron tucked it back under his jumper and t-shirt.  
  
 _I will not Make him._  
  
Ron sought any reprieve in Martin's eyes, but all of the older vampire's concerns had to do with Ron, not Harry. A lament pulsed through Ron's veins, a threnody to a life that now seemed so distant as to have never happened.  
  
 _We've been best mates since I was eleven years old. I can't bear this._  
  
Ron wrenched himself up to a standing position, feeling his all-too-accessible anger flooding him. He made himself stand there, breathing deeply, focusing on Martin's eyes, as blue as the deepest lake and hiding as much mystery. Martin was chastising him, though his demeanour would have appeared unchanged to anyone but another immortal.  
  
"You're right," Ron said miserably. "I _can_ bear it. And I will, if I have to. But I've got to think through this. D'you mind?" Ron crashed to the floor on his knees, penitent and fragile. "You came all this way, for me, and now I'm rushing off. Fuck. I do need you, but you don't understand all of it, and—"  
  
 _Go,_ Martin's erudite voice sounded in Ron's mind. _Be back at least an hour before sunrise. Promise me that.  
  
I will._ Ron knocked his forehead against Martin's shins. _I will, I will._  
  
Gingerly he got back to a standing position and walked to the door. He looked at his broom, leaning in the corner, and picked it up. Maybe flying would be better than a stroll. He'd done some good thinking in the past on his Skyrunner. Once outside, he straddled his broom and pushed off from the ground. It was a clear night; the clouds that had been chased by the wind had all blown off. He'd just have to chance it. Up and around he flew, waiting to see how his frantic thoughts would distill themselves.  
  
He leaned into the broom, his torso nearly parallel to the wood before pulling up, slowing his speed as a memory resolutely came to the forefront of his conscious. It had been a Saturday much like any other at that point in their lives: sleeping in to a ridiculous hour, Harry making a massive breakfast that Ron would relish, running errands, either separately or alone, Harry fire calling Remus for his weekly check-in, Ron doing the same with his mum. This particular Saturday Harry had set his heart on an adventure, and Ron obligingly had gone along, even though it had been harder and harder for Harry to pull him away from the book he'd been reading. Hermione had given him a Muggle book that could have easily functioned as a doorstop, The Lord of the Rings. The first several chapters hadn't been the best, but once this Boromir fellow had shown up, and Gimli and Legolas, he'd been hard pressed to put the book down.  
  
"C'mon Ron— let's go see Nessie."  
  
"Harry." Ron had moaned. "You know that's just some overgrown, bored kelpie up in that Loch."  
  
"So what? It'll be fun. I'll pack some food, and there's an Apparating point not far away. Please? We've not done anything like this in a while."  
  
Oftentimes 'anything like this' involved not-quite-public sex, of which Ron already had fond memories.  
  
"Okay."  
  
They'd Apparated about a half mile from the Loch with its famous aquatic monster and wandered around, mingling with the Muggle tourists. Harry had even transfigured a few sickles into pound notes so they could take a tour around part of the lake by boat, getting the full effect of the mysterious and shy creature in its cold, deep home. The day had been unseasonably sunny and warm, and after their short cruise, they wandered up one of the tree-covered hills until they found a small open area. They ate the sandwiches Harry'd brought and drank a couple of butterbeers apiece.  
  
"Merlin, I want a nap," Ron had said, collapsing on the blanket he'd engorged to regular size.  
  
"You sleep more than anyone I know, you lazy git," Harry had joked, poking Ron in the ribs.  
  
"You're one to talk!" Ron had insisted, throwing his arm over his face to block out the sun.  
  
"I've got something I'd like to do before you drift off," Harry had said suggestively, running his hand along the inside of Ron's thigh.  
  
"Do you, now?" Ron hadn't been able to suppress his smirk, nor control his intently interested cock.  
  
"Yes," Harry had said lustfully, slowly running his hand over the first evidence of Ron's arousal.  
  
"Harry, you're quite the exhibitionist," Ron had said, groaning softly as Harry had continued kneading Ron's growing erection.  
  
"What— do you only want to have sex at home, on the bed? How boring," Harry had said, rolling his eyes.  
  
"We've christened every one of those rooms, most multiple times," Ron had reminded him, lifting his hips to allow Harry to pull down his denims and y-fronts.  
  
"Too right." Harry had a wicked grin as he removed his own khakis and boxers.  
  
"Come here, you," Ron had growled, pulling Harry on top of him.  
  
They'd kissed leisurely, become more passionate as Harry had rocked his groin against Ron's. Ron had looked up into the robin's egg blue sky as Harry had sucked along his neck, Ron groping Harry's arse. It had been a perfect afternoon, the warm sun beaming down on them, their pale skin bared to the fair breeze.  
  
"Want to taste you," Ron had begged, and Harry had happily rolled over onto his back.  
  
"Who am I to say no?" Harry'd said, shimmying his hips so his cock waved in the sunlight.  
  
Ron had feasted on Harry, consciously being as slow and thorough as he could. He'd relished Harry's moans and sighs, and _'Ron, so good'_ s until at last Harry's hands had tugged in Ron's hair.  
  
"Gods, Ron," Harry had panted, his orgasm pulsing into Ron's mouth.  
  
Ron had swallowed the briny, musky fluid, for the thousandth time confirming it was one of the most delicious flavours he'd ever tasted. With a thoughtful smile, Ron had sat back on his heels as Harry caught his breath. Ron snuck his finger down to wipe away the stray drops of pearly liquid as he saw them, licking it off as Harry had raised up on his elbows.  
  
"Good thing I know where you got to be so brilliant at that or I'd be insanely jealous," he'd said with a sated grin.  
  
"I'm sure there's always room for improvement," Ron had said, waggling his eyebrows.  
  
"Your turn."  
  
"Oh yes." Ron had lain on his back, equally effusive in his comments to Harry as Harry's skilled tongue and lips brought Ron closer and closer to coming. He'd been so close, the prickling seizing in his sacs just hovering on the edge when Harry had released his throbbing cock. Ron had groaned at the injustice.  
  
"Ron."  
  
Ron had scrabbled up to his elbows, suddenly worried that they'd been seen.  
  
"Ron, I want to be able to do this with you forever," Harry had said, gently stroking Ron's erection with his hand. "For our whole lives. I've researched the Wizarding laws and we can't get married, exactly, but there's no prohibition to handfasting ceremonies, and it's practically the same thing. Sorry for the timing of the question, but will you be bound to me, Ron?"  
  
Ron had found it hard to swallow. He'd just assumed they'd live together, and be HarryandRon as they had been since that first day on the Hogwarts Express. Harry actually wanted them to be sacramentally joined. Ron hadn't been able to help it, but tears had risen in his eyes and he'd nodded slowly.  
  
"Of course. I love you, Harry. I've always wanted to be with you."  
  
What had followed had been one of the most intensely emotional orgasms Harry had ever wrung from him. Or it had been until Ron had been Turned; their sexual acts since then had been overwhelmingly intimate on levels Ron couldn't have fathomed before. The sublime happiness on Harry's face on that memorable day faded into other expressions in Ron's cache of memories: frantic, grimaced in pain, proud, rapturous, relaxed in sleep.  
  
With a thump, Ron landed a ways from the small house, coming back to the present. He wanted to stretch his legs prior to shutting himself away for the day. He knew he had a little more than an hour before sunrise, enough time to get back to the Black house and keep his promise to Martin. As Ron strode along the sandy path, his broom slung over his shoulders, he knew that he'd come to a decision. What the ultimate outcome would be, he couldn't hazard to guess, but in this immediate course of action, Ron was resolved.  
  
Martin stood in the doorway, his cape on and a serious expression on his face. If he'd had a pipe in his mouth, he would have looked like the detective in a collection of Muggle stories Harry had, though the character's name escaped Ron. Martin opened his arms as Ron approached. Ron allowed the vampire to hold him as he spoke his thoughts slowly.  
  
 _I'm unwilling to lose Harry like this. There's a Wizard vampire in Romania— I haven't met her, but somebody who works with my brother Charlie offered to introduce us. I'll go and find out what all she can tell me, and ask her if she'll Make Harry. If not, I'll do it._  
  
A low sigh passed from Martin's mouth. "Then it shall be." He stood back, hands placed on Ron's shoulders, his face grave. _Feed properly,_ he stated firmly. _No matter what, you must be at full strength._  
  
"I'll have my wand," Ron said defensively. "I'm all but an Auror. Like a special agent, I suppose."  
  
 _One major fight with your Harry and you'd let yourself become weak,_ Martin reminded him a bit testily. _Don't overestimate yourself, especially against others like us, whether your kind or not.  
  
I promise.  
  
If you find yourself in peril, contact me immediately. I'll do what I can.  
  
I will, Martin. Thank you, for everything._  
  
In a surprisingly European manner, Martin kissed both of Ron's cheeks. He gave Ron a parting reassuring look before striding so quickly to the Muggle car it appeared as though he'd glided across the grass. The engine roared to life, Martin turned the car around, and drove away. In the ensuing quiet Ron bolted the door. He sat in front of the fire until the telltale prickling of sunrise began to affect him, making his limbs and eyelids heavy. He put out the fire, waved a _Nox_ to extinguish the remaining lights, and undid his necklace. Harry and Ron had both worn their rings on their middle right fingers, but Harry's fingers were smaller than Ron's. Ron found that it fit on his left pinky. With the band in its new home, he redid the wards around the house and put himself into his temporary hideaway, hoping desperately that he would have a dreamless sleep.  



	11. Chapter 10

  
Author's notes:

The locations in this chapter, Timisoara and Buzias, are real places in western Romania. I feel like I've been there, now. If you're a research geek like me and would like to see my inspiration, here's a couple of websites: www.romaniatourism.com/timisoara.html, and the picture that inspired me to place Marilena in Buzias was in this article: www.e-sana.ro/index.php?a=138

I have an additional warning for this chapter for vampiric cannibalism; not very graphic, but the concept is a bit disturbing. 

* * *

_Dear Ronald-_

_I’d be happy to introduce you to Marilena. In truth, I am glad that you contacted me. There have been one or two Seers in our family, and while I do not believe I have the ability with any great strength, there have been occasions when I have had visions of the future that have come to pass. When I saw you, I believed that I would see you again, and I felt that Marilena would have a part to play in your future._

_I will look for you at the Preserve on December 21st. I regret that I cannot make it sooner as you sounded rushed in your letter; there are some temperamental plants which require my focused attentions at nearly all hours until then._

_My kind regards,_

_Valerica_

Ron paced in the large office space for the Preserve, waiting for Valerica to appear. Charlie had confirmed she was in the greenhouses but would be coming to the office shortly. 

"What on Circe’s tits happened at my party?" Charlie asked once Ron appeared, having arrived via a Granian available for Reserve staff.

"Harry and I had a blow-out," Ron said with a pained look. "A really bad one, and I’m still not sure what started it. I don’t want to say much else, really; I need to talk to another Wizard vampire, and the sooner the better."

"I was just asking," Charlie said, his feelings obviously hurt. "Remind me not to care in the future." He focused his attention back on the parchments in front of him, signing his name on multiple lines. 

"Bollocks, Charlie, it’s just complicated, okay? I’ll figure out what to do, though. Thank you for being worried. Really."

Charlie looked up, a wan, lopsided smile on his face. "Least an older brother can do. Actually, maybe it’s not." A bit nervously, he tilted his head toward his shoulder. "Are you hungry? Or thirsty? I don’t really know how you describe what it is you do."

Ron blinked disbelievingly at Charlie, at his thick, muscled neck, the veins seeming to push up against his skin. "I feed. Drink. Feast, whatever. I’d been on the Ministry stuff since—" he paused, censoring himself. "For a few days, but Martin suggested I not do that."

"Who’s Martin?"

"Muggle vampire. Adopted me, sort of. He’s a pretty great bloke."

"Glad you have somebody like that, in addition to Harry, I mean," Charlie said earnestly. "So?" He tapped at his neck.

Ron rubbed above his eyebrows. "Well, I’d be daft to turn you down. I assure you I’ve gotten pretty good at this. It won’t hurt, I won’t drain you, and I’ll heal you afterwards."

"I wasn’t worried," Charlie reassured him, getting up from behind the desk. "Curious, must admit. It’s not just every family that has a famous vampire."

"’M not famous. That’s horrible Charlie, really." Ron could feel the grimace etched on his face. "You can't imagine how isolating it is."

"Come here." Charlie’s comforting embrace caught Ron by surprise, but he realised he hadn’t really spent that much time with his older brother since he’d gone to Romania. Charlie was obviously more effusive with his affections, and Ron allowed himself to gather some warmth from him. "Drink. I bet you’ll feel better. Traveling by flying horse, if you don’t do it that often, can be tiring."

"Things like that don’t tire me, but thanks for saying so. You ready?"

Charlie nodded, shuffling backward a couple of steps so Ron had better access to his neck. 

"Oh, um," Ron began, feeling uncomfortable bringing up one of the likely side-effects, "you may find you get…" He thought about Martin, about the centuries he himself had to live, and decided he was through being embarrassed. He looked down slightly so he stared into Charlie's toffee brown eyes. "I don't know why, but being fed on seems to be pretty erotic. Don't be surprised if you get a bit hard. It's not because of me, really."

Shockingly, Charlie flushed. "Oh. That's, well, oh fuck it," he said, planting his feet on the floor and his hands at Ron's hips. "Family's family."

"Thank you," Ron breathed against Charlie's freckled ear. He savoured the scent that hovered just above Charlie's skin, as his fangs became fully exposed. He licked at the warm flesh before gently dragging his teeth until they were aligned with Charlie's most prominent vein. Ron pushed easily into Charlie's neck, sighing softly as the hot liquid shot into his mouth. For perhaps a full minute Ron drank ever so slowly, controlling the pace to make sure Charlie's heart wasn't affected. He'd kept his senses attuned to the ambient noises, however, and held Charlie in a strong grip as a door opened and the two women's voices Ron had heard stopped suddenly. There was a shriek. 

"What the fuck?" Kylie's expletive was instantly identifiable.

Ron mouthed at the puncture wounds to seal them, still holding on to Charlie, who appeared to be in a bit of a stupor.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Kylie demanded, storming over to glare at Ron while attempting to pull Charlie out of Ron's embrace. "Fucking pervert," she seethed, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders.

"No, just a vampire," Ron replied coolly, releasing his brother.

"Love, I'm fine," Charlie said, his voice sluggish but stern. "Honestly. And I volunteered," he said, shrugging off her hands so he could stand up straight and put himself to rights. 

"You’re _fine_?" 

Kylie glowered at Ron, who then looked at the doorway where Valerica stood, nonplussed.

"Thanks for your post," he said before turning back to Charlie. "And thank you. I do feel much better." Ron had taken more than he would from other people, because he knew Charlie's strength and that he would recover quickly. The vibrant blood danced through him, making him feel warm and at peace.

"Any time." Charlie gave him a big grin, pulling Kylie to him rather against her will. "Kylie, I believe you owe Ron an apology. There's nothing perverse in a vampire drinking blood; it's known as survival."

"He's a Dark Creature," she said through gritted teeth.

"He's my brother."

As thoughtful as the fraternal gesture was, Ron was terribly anxious to get to Marilena. "Kylie, no apology needed. I am what I am, and frankly, I don't care what you think about it. Thanks again, Charlie."

Ron walked to the door where Valerica studied him, her gaze unreadable. "Are you ready to go?" she asked, her slate-coloured eyes seeming to map his face.

"Definitely."

Valerica guided them to the perimeter of the Preserve. "Anti-Apparition wards," she said, though Ron had figured as such. "Having someone somehow accidentally Apparate into a dragon pen could be pretty horrible."

"Has that happened?"

"I don't believe so," she said with a sly smile. "But I've only been here a little over a year. Here we are." She paused on the threshold before linking her arm through Ron's and looking up at him. "I'd like to side-along Apparate. Is that all right with you?"

"Don't see why not. How far away are we going?"

"Not that far. We'll be going near Timisoara, in the west. It's an ancient city, quite beautiful."

Ron nodded. "Better move outside of the barriers first."

"Of course."

With a small, huffed laugh, Valerica stepped forward two steps, bringing Ron with her. The jarring, unpleasant disconnect of Apparition snapped through him; it was far worse when he didn't have the coordinates in his head first. They were in a forest on the edge of a small lake, nowhere near a city that he could tell. An odd smell filled his nose even as a vague, feminine shadow of presence swept through his mind. Ron started in shock, quickly closing his thoughts. He realised he was probably too slow to have disguised his multiple purposes in being there, but also recognised that really, there was no point in being at all coy. Hopefully this was his last stop in finding out what could and should be done, both for his own knowledge and to know what to do about Harry.

"Where are we?" he asked, sniffing into the air. 

"Buzias. There are thermal and mineral pools here; Marilena has a fondness for them."

Ron pondered that for a few seconds. "Aren't you going to let her know we're here?" He knew that the other vampire had been aware of their presence as soon as they'd appeared, but he wasn't sure about the petite Romanian's abilities.

"I am sure she already knows."

Even as the few words were emitted into the night air, a faint plashing noise came from the end of the inky waters. To Ron's great discomfort, he watched as a nude woman of medium build and indeterminate age languidly emerged from the depths of the pool. Her mouth remained closed while she methodically drew closer to the shore, her porcelain skin glowing under the light of the moon. 

_I know of your heart's desire, and I will do what you request._

"What?" Ron cried out, trying valiantly to keep his composure.

_You are here for knowledge, but also for Him._

The last word was accompanied by a short staccato of memories. They were obviously of prurient interest to this immortal who had been reaping Ron's trove of erotic moments with Harry. 

_"Ron, you can't just lie there like that and expect me not to do anything."_

_"Lie here like what?" A sly grin, post skinny-dipping, sprawled out in the warm shade on his stomach, legs wide apart._

_"Like **that.** "_

_Harry's oiled fingers and hands massaging Ron's shoulders and back before heading toward their intended goal. Harry's thumbs tenderly prising Ron open until Ron had dropped his feet to the tiled ground for purchase, giving him leverage so he could push back against the now-stroking fingers. The slick, squelching sound of Harry slicking his own cock out of Ron's vision making Ron's pulse hammer through his body._

_"Up on your knees, lion." Harry's commanding, lusty voice in Ron's ear._

_Ron complying with graceless haste and need, thumping his forehead against the back of his hands and willing himself to relax, incredibly turned on but still wary of the initial burn and stretching, until…_

_"Ron, gods, so tight, love being inside you."_

_Push-pull and grunting, and Ron grasping his own aching cock, the scent of Muggle sunscreen mingling joyously with musky sweat and Harry's frenetic thrusts and biting at Ron's shoulder and Harry ramming himself in for all he was worth and Ron's frenzied pistoning on his shaft and—_

"Stay out of my memories," Ron growled, the anger at being violated vibrating around him. He'd bared his fangs, every muscle in his body was tensed, and his wand was pointed unwaveringly at the vampire's heart.

_You needed to be taught, fledgling,_ she replied smoothly, her satin voice draping across his thoughts.

"Hades' hackles I do."

"Marilena, please," Valerica pleaded in a small voice, holding out heavy, velvet robes that had come from Merlin only knew where. "Get dressed. Don't torment Ronald, or whatever it is that you're doing."

Marilena elegantly attired herself in the burgundy robes, her noxious attentions on Ron as she dressed. "He is young. He comes to me with thousands of questions, wishes me to bestow the Change on to another, and does not even bring a gift. He must relinquish his perceived sense of power if he wishes to obtain favour from me." 

"I don't want your favour, and at this point, bugger the questions," Ron ground out through his clenched teeth. He'd been sure to slam his thoughts shut as in a vise, but he had no idea how much Marilena knew about him. Far more than he'd realised, that was certain. It filled him with rage, though peripherally Ron was aware that anger was sometimes good for him, forcing him to focus. "You'll Make him, you said?"

"I will, though like all things of great value, it comes with a price."

Valerica released a scalding torrent of what Ron assumed to be Romanian.

"I said I would, and I shall," the vampire replied lovingly, her demeanour toward her grand-grand-grand-niece in stark contrast to how she had upbraided Ron. Marilena continued on in Romanian as Ron watched Valerica sullenly study the ground at her feet. In the ensuing silence, Valerica looked up, the hurt in her expression such that Ron felt pity for her, though he had absolutely no idea what the two of them had been discussing.

After a deep sigh, Valerica turned to look at Ron. "I've been asked to leave. I must bid you good night."

Awkwardly Ron sent out his arm, uncertain as to whether or not she would shake his hand, expect a kiss on the cheek, or a hug. Valerica ponderously trod the few steps to Ron's side, melting against him as he caught her in surprise.

"You do not realise what a gift you have," she said moodily against his chest. 

"I didn't ask to become like this," Ron said quietly, touching Valerica's back. "I don't even know who did it. I was _Obliviated_."

Valerica turned her head to focus on Marilena.

"No, child, not I," she said dismissively. "Though the imprint of the one who did is still on him. You must go now, my little one."

Valerica nodded into Ron's ribs and pulled away. "I will see you again," she said, seeming more stalwart than in the moments before.

"Hope so," Ron answered as he watched the diminutive witch walk a few paces away and Apparate.

"So, ginger hair, wild eyes and stampeding thoughts. I will Change your lover, but I shall require a gift." Marilena gazed at Ron, appearing beatific for a few seconds at the moonlight caught her face. She looked distressingly like an attractive, feminine version of Severus Snape, with black hair that cascaded over her shoulders and a striking Roman nose.

"Valerica forgot to tell me about that part," Ron said with no small amount of sarcasm.

"What I have in mind is not for you to give," she continued, turning to look up at the swath of stars suspended far above them. Ron followed her gaze, viewing the pinpricks of light above the tree canopy. "I require something from him. I wish for a piece of his heart."

"A piece of his what?!" Ron shouted, disturbing the frigid calm.

"His heart."

"Why not ask for part of his soul, while you're at it?" Ron spat menacingly.

"I have no need of that, fledgling." She smiled up at the heavens, though there was no warmth in the gesture. Marilena looked inhuman, like the unvanquishable immortal she truly was.

_"If I live long enough, I'll end up like that."_ The irresistible, alien truth sparked through Ron, though he couldn't bear to fathom it for long.

"Our souls are seared wholly into our being when we are Made," Marilena said. "They cannot be separated, not from our bodies, neither into divided parts. The blood and tender flesh of a mortal heart, when given freely, infuses not only additional strength, but also compassion. And that, you who have been a dark child for only the blink of an eye, is something you may find you desperately crave. Especially after you have lived as one of our kind for long decades and centuries." 

She lowered her head, and Ron felt the compulsion to look at her as certainly as though she had commanded it aloud. Her obsidian eyes held a weariness he hadn't expected to see. 

"I will take enough to satisfy me, no more, though his heart will not regenerate. That is to be the cost. Call him, this reckless one you love. Until he arrives, hunt with me. I have long missed the company of one as rash and youthful as you."

Ron was decidedly of two minds. What Marilena was demanding was barbaric, and he despised her for imposing such a high price. He didn't believe he would ever have even a sliver of affection for Marilena, but she was still the only other magical vampire he knew.

"I have a request," Ron said finally. "Kindly keep out of my mind when I contact him. Stay out of it entirely. Then you can show me how you hunt."

Ron saw her eyes gleam as she regarded him. "I will agree. Even with your inexperience, you know you are able to look into your victim as you drink of him. This means that I will come to know your lover intimately as I Make him. You may be shy around me if you wish, but I will take him to the brink of death and know all of his memories."

"I don't think you realise how horrific some of them may be," Ron said bitterly. "He's not had a life of just sex and school." 

"Come, protective bear," Marilena said, holding out her hands. Grudgingly Ron accepted them, her chilled fingers a slender echo of his own. "You shall learn from me until your lover arrives. If he arrives."

"Of course he will." Ron said the words, his knees almost buckling as though his world had literally shifted. Until that second he'd not even considered the possibility that Harry wasn't simply waiting for Ron to make up his mind. For all he knew, Harry had been in such a distressed state he'd gone looking for another vampire — any vampire — to Change him. "Oh fuck," he whispered, his voice edged with panic. 

"Come," Marilena insisted, drawing their clasped hands to her prominent collarbones. "We must feed."

_Harry,_ Ron moaned. With the single word, he flung his thoughts, desires, and fear into the vast winter sky, uncertain that he would ever receive a reply.

* * * * *

For three interminably long nights, Ron and Marilena roved around the town of Timisoara and surrounding hamlets. They hunted, Marilena's condescension obvious when Ron insisted he would only select individuals he could tell wanted to die. This included an ancient, gnarled couple on whom Ron practised some of what Marilena had taught him, the skill of consoling and reassuring one's victim so there was little struggle, and how to draw out the delirious profundity of drinking down the life of a mortal. In excruciating detail, she elaborated on what it was like to be Changed, the passing through death to immortality. She refused to let him know where she spent her days, and encouraged him to keep the same from her. Still somewhat optimistic that he would be there only a short time, Ron slept during the day hidden in the dungeons of Ambroze Castle, close to Timisoara and its nearby spa town. She also explained in depth her discoveries about her magical abilities after becoming a vampire, as well as a sweeping overview of the history of vampires. It was both a far more vivid and bleak account than anything Ron remembered from Hogwarts. 

Marilena also propounded her views on vampiric behaviour. Each immortal Made changed from the way he or she had been in life, but the manifestation of it was unpredictable and varied tremendously. The older the vampire who enacted the Turning, the more powerful the new vampire, though unfortunately that didn't guarantee any psychological stability for the fledgling. The unequivocal truth was there simply was no way to know how a new vampire would act with his or her new gift. Making it doubly complicated was the interaction of the preternatural attributes of vampiric blood with one's magical abilities. Having been a Healer, Ron knew intimately the complicated matrix involving the life force, ancestral suffusion and ambric topography in which a witch or wizard's magic resided. Just as any witch or wizard's magic was unique to him or herself, with its quirks, strengths and weaknesses providing a personal marking as singular as a fingerprint, so were the capabilities of a new vampire.

More and more, Ron felt it was a fluke that he felt as similar to his pre-immortal self as he did, brought on by the circumstances in which he was Made as well as his deep-rooted beliefs and knowledge about himself. The truths in which he had lived his life since the age of eleven were irrevocably bound up in Harry. This understanding gave him hope that if Harry really did insist on being Made, that he would react as Ron had, due to the elements of themselves that were intermingled.

The fourth night after a quick feeding, Ron made his way up to the mineral springs, thinking about Christmas. It _was_ Christmas, but Ron had never felt less like celebrating. It was snowing, and had been most of the day apparently, as there was half a foot on the ground. He trudged through the trees, using his honed senses to keep himself as invisible as possible, occasionally looking up into the soft, grey-milk sky. As he approached the lake, Ron felt a tremour pass through him and he froze. Slowly he peered around the clearing until a flutter of movement behind a tree drew his attentions into razor-sharp focus. Ron stilled his breathing, staring at the spot until Harry stepped out from behind the large oak.

Harry wore plain black robes, a long black scarf, and a fur hat. If Ron hadn't been so overwhelmed at seeing him, noticing that Harry's nose and cheeks were bright pink from the cold, showing he was still fully human, he would have fallen apart with laughter at the bizarre headwear. As it was, he crossed the clearing in seconds, wrapping Harry in a tight embrace.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Ron said. He murmured the mantra into Harry's hair, the foreign hat having been knocked to the ground in Ron's enthusiasm. "Gods, Harry, missed you. You're really here."

He pulled back so he could see Harry's face, the small smile that graced his lips, and the snowflakes beginning to cluster on his eyelashes behind his glasses. 

"I'm here," Harry said, the love and gratitude in his expression nearly palpable in their intensity. "I was so glad to hear from you," he said fervently, raising his hands from Ron's back to cup Ron's chin. 

Harry leaned up to press his lips against Ron's but Ron had already tilted downward. They met halfway in a heated, clumsy crashing of lips and sliding tongues as their mouths were reacquainted, both moaning at the contact. For long moments they kissed until Harry drew away, gasping for air. Ron threaded his fingers through Harry's tangle of hair, nosing at the stubbled skin by his ear, nibbling gently at the lobe.

"How long would you have waited?" Ron asked, turning Harry slightly so his back rested against the tree.

"A month. A year. Years. Decades. I don't know," Harry answered, his voice husky. He slid his palms down the front of Ron's long cape, an unintended gift from one of Marilena's victims, parting it so he could run his hands around Ron's waist. He pulled Ron in to him, pushing his hips forward as Ron moved his hands to clasp behind the base of Harry's back.

"Harry, have you changed your mind? I have to ask," Ron said a bit gruffly as the torrent of emotions affected his ability to speak.

"No. Of course not," Harry said vehemently, jerking Ron's groin into his. Ron groaned, feeling Harry's arousal through his wool trousers. "I said you weren't to seek me unless you agreed to it. You didn't get me here under false pretenses, did you?" His breath was hot against Ron's mouth, Harry's green eyes blazing and accusatory.

"No, Harry. But I had hoped." Ron dropped his head to their foreheads rested together. "Merlin, do you really know what you're asking?"

"All I’m asking is to continue to be bound to you."

"Oh Harry." Ron leaned fully against him, getting frustrated at the way their bodies intersected due to their height difference. "Let me be against the tree so I can hold you properly, and then I need to tell you a few things." 

They shifted until things were much more to Ron's satisfaction, Harry still in his arms, Ron nuzzling Harry's fragrant hair.

_Might be faster this way,_ Harry said directly to Ron and Ron sighed. 

_Yeah. Thanks. Missed your presence so much. You should've seen me with Martin; your leaving made me a snivelling basket case. Speaking of, I think there's something you should have back._ Easing his hands from the warmth of Harry's back, Ron showed Harry his ring, still on Ron's pinky finger. Ron started to pull it off.

_Not yet. Not until the Changing is over._

_Harry, you have no idea,_ Ron mourned, shoving the ring back down the joint. _If you insist on going through this, which you seem to, you've got to know a few things. Merlin, this is so fucking hard. I'm pretty sure you're insane._

Harry snuggled closer to Ron, prompting Ron to hold him as tightly as possible. _I thought you already knew that._

_This isn't funny!_ Ron's disapproval and anger were enough that Harry pushed himself back so he could look into Ron's eyes.

_I know._ The expression on Harry's face was serious and uncharacteristically grave. _I've never really had a deathwish. I did what I needed to do to survive, and that's what I'm doing now. Do you understand?_

The enormity of Harry's unwavering devotion and self-preservation made Ron flash hot to cold and back. 

"I do."

Ron sent a flurry of thoughts to Harry from the days since Harry had left. He let him know of Martin's decision not to Make Harry, his experience with Charlie and meeting Marilena, the knowledge she'd shared as well as the cost she had imposed on her agreement.

"A piece of my heart?" Harry asked skeptically, furrowing his brows. "Sounds rather Death Eaterish."

"What do you think a vampire is, if not one who eats, or drinks, death?"

"Holy fuck!" Ron swore in surprise, hurling himself away from the tree. Ron had been so exclusively centered on Harry and their communications that he hadn't attuned himself to anything else and consequently missed Marilena's arrival entirely. Far more slowly than his actions, his mind caught up to him and he realised he was hovering in the air, his left arm clutching Harry to him, his right arm brandishing his wand at the other vampire.

"Protective bear, you impress me." Her droll voice glissandoed up to him. "Come down now so I may properly meet this one who haunts you so."

Slowly Ron returned to the ground, only then noticing that Harry had grabbed him around the waist but he, too, held his wand fast in his grip. "Harry, this is Marilena."

"So I gathered," he said, taking a moment to size up their new companion. He stepped away from Ron, tucking his wand back into a pocket in his robes. "Harry Potter." He held out his hand. "You're the great-great-great-aunt to that herbologist at the Preserve?"

"Yes, I am," she said haughtily, ignoring his outstretched arm. "I know who you are; we may be leagues from your lands, but wizard news travels far, and with speed. I'm surprised that you wish to become a dark child, given the one you conquered."

"If it hadn't happened to Ron, I wouldn't be," he said coldly. "I mean you no disrespect, and to you there's all the time in the world, but I'd like to go ahead and get on with it, now that you're here." 

"So hasty." Marilena's gaze roved across his figure before moving to Ron. "And you are ready for this to occur now?"

Ron looked at Harry, whose jaw was resolutely set. "I guess so. You won't hurt him," he demanded, unsure what spells she would use to take a part of his still-beating heart, the thought which horrified him almost more than the Changing itself.

"You are free to use your Healer's skills to dull his nerves," she said, nodding. "The spell is such that the recipient is not in pain."

"Just do it, then," Harry said, unbuttoning his robes.

"You need not get undressed. I will take what I wish and summon it forth."

"Fine."

Ron bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at the inconceivable nightmare taking place right in front of him. The metallic taste of a smattering of his own blood traipsed across his tongue and for a moment, he closed his eyes.

_Harry, I love you. I'll always be with you. You don't have to—_

_Yes I do. I'll pass through this and you'll be there on the other side._

_This is so wrong!_ Ron couldn't conceal his anguish. He wanted to stand in front of Harry to defend him, as though Harry weren't at least twice the wizard Ron was.

There was a low chanting in a language Ron had never heard, lyrical but causing the hairs to rise all over his body. Harry shouted in shock and Ron was at his side in a second. Harry panted and clutched at his chest, staring down at it before jerking his head up to stare at Marilena. She held out her palm so they could both see the small, brownish-red lump that resembled a piece of stew meat. The still-falling snow made the steam rising from it all the more noticeable.

Wide-eyed Ron turned to Harry, who looked strangely composed. "Fuck! Harry! How do you feel?" The words rushed out of Ron as he dropped his head to Harry's chest, nudging Harry's hands out of the way.

"Okay, really," Harry said faintly, his gaze fixated on Marliena's marble-like hand.

"Where was the fucking warning?" Ron yelled, his anger boiling.

"He said he did not want to waste time, so I did not," Marilena said superciliously, stroking the warm flesh in her palm. "Would you like some?"

"Would I what?" Ron's voice shook with rage.

"He is a part of you already," Marilena said matter-of-factly. "Until recently it is he on whom you fed. He enjoyed it."

"You're perverse," Ron whispered as Harry put his arm around Ron's waist.

"I am a vampire," she replied in a mocking echo of Ron's exchange with Kylie. Elegantly she plucked the glistening plum of muscle from her hand and popped it into her mouth. She chewed with refined exuberance and swallowed. Ron felt Harry's grip tighten on his hip as Marilena's delicate adam's apple bobbed up and down.

_I want this to be over soon,_ Harry said in a carefully measured tone.

_Me too._

"That was your price," Ron said caustically. "Now will you Make him?"

"Yes, youngling," Marilena said, a flicker of compassion in her eyes. "Though you could at least thank me for all I have taught you before this Harry arrived. I will not linger after the Change."

"I am grateful," Ron admitted.

"Do you know what will happen?" Marilena asked Harry, gliding over until she stood before them, placing her finger under his prickly chin.

"Yes."

"Protective one, do you wish for your lover to have this on his face for eternity?" she asked with a smile, rubbing at the shadow of beard on Harry's face.

"Of all the stupid details," Harry muttered. He cast a shaving spell and stood defiantly, waiting for the inevitable. "Here." He pulled open the lapels of his coat and shirt so his neck was exposed, tilting his head to allow her the easiest access possible.

"Watch," Marilena commanded Ron.

The next few minutes were an excruciating dystopia. Ron had seen Marilena feed, but his emotions hadn't been a factor before. Ron knew every nuance of the flavour of Harry's blood, and had to gaze on helplessly as she drained him to the edge of death. Thank Merlin her eyes were closed. Ron sank to his knees, unable to keep standing as he imagined the rich torrent of Harry's lifetime of memories and experiences flooding her, intermingled with his blood. She took it all, leeching the vibrant life from him, and Harry had demanded it.

_Harry._ Ron willed him to reply, but his entreaty vanished, swallowed up in the void of Harry's consciousness.

Marilena murmured something to Harry in Romanian. He had collapsed against her, head lolling like a broken doll. She spoke again, more insistently and Harry struggled to raise his head. "You must feed," she said in a syrupy voice, lush with the blood roaring through her. "Now."

Harry's mouth opened and Ron caught the first faint glimmer of his elongated teeth before they sank into Marilena's neck. Ron closed his eyes, holding his head in his hands. He listened to the cooing, contented sounds Harry made as he drank, greedily feasting on Marilena's old blood.

"Enough," Marilena said hoarsely at last. 

Ron was up like a bolt of lightning, grabbing at Harry, pulling him into his chest and down to the ground. He babbled nonsense about how things would be okay, how he would hold him while Harry's mortal body perished.

"Never alone, Harry, we'll never be alone again," Ron choked out through a haze of shameless tears.

_So strange, Ron,_ Harry said weakly. _Like… I don't know. Ron, it hurts, oh Merlin, like I'm turning inside-out, fuck._ Harry convulsed against Ron, who in desperation ripped at his wrist with his fangs.

_Drink, Harry, drink some more,_ he begged, his panic subsiding as Harry did so. _I've got you. Take some of my strength, oh fuck, this won't last forever, I promise._

Harry lifted his head to look unfocusedly up at Ron, his glasses askew and blood smearing his lips. _I'm dying, Ron. I can feel it._

_It'll pass, Merlin, come here, come here._

Ron rolled them over so he was on his back. He clutched Harry to him, lying prone above Ron and covered with Ron's cape.

_Good-bye, fiery one. Be wary of this fledgling, who may or may not be yours anymore._

Ron jerked his head up from the ground, but he and Harry were alone. With a shuddering sob he held Harry, his mind open for Harry's dizzying thoughts as his body reacted to the vampiric blood. Ron felt and saw Harry's magic crackle around them as it, too, metamorphosed. Sparks like fireflies sizzled and vanished as Harry's ambric energy adapted to the immortal elements taking root in him. There was a faint stench and Ron recognised that Harry's body had expelled the last of its human remains. Harry stared wild-eyed at him, pushing his hands on Ron's chest.

_Dead?_ he asked frantically, wiping at his mouth. _Merlin, clean me, please._

Ron evoked his most powerful wandless magic to cast the strongest _Scourgify_ he could. Harry had calmed down, allowing Ron to stroke his back. They lay there for a long time, Ron experiencing Harry's turbulent thoughts as he continued to Change. After an hour or so had passed, Ron could tell it was complete.

_Harry?_ he asked, nosing into Harry's hair. He was heartbroken when he realised Harry's woodsy, musky smell had disappeared with his mortality.

_Sorry, Ron,_ Harry apologised a bit petulantly. _Maybe I should start wearing cologne._

_Don't be ridiculous. Can you stand up?_

Harry nodded. Once upright, Ron looked at Harry, transformed, and Ron was filled with a calamity of conflicted feelings. Harry was as handsome as ever, and his eyes now held the inhuman glow that he knew shimmered in his own depths, and those of all vampires. Harry looked indomitable, untethered to mortality and more compelling and dangerous to Ron than ever before. Through their shared thoughts Ron knew Harry was exploring his new self in subtle, cautious ways.

"I should feed," Harry said suddenly.

Ron held out his wrist.

"No, not on you," Harry said indignantly.

"What, I'm not good enough?" Ron felt as though he'd taken a blow directly to the heart. "But you used to want me only to drink from you."

"That was before," Harry insisted. Suddenly he realised how devastated Ron had been by his comment. "It's not that you're not good enough," he said in a voice far more suited for their bedroom than the empty Romanian woods in which they were standing. "You'll always taste best, I'm sure. But Marilena told me it's not healthy for vampires to feed off each other for very long. We're meant to drink from mortals."

Ron knew that to be true; it hadn't stopped him from harbouring a sickly romantic idea that he and Harry could be exclusively together in all aspects. "You're right. We'll need to go down to the city and then find a place to sleep before sunrise. I'll take you where I've been. I really want to get home, but I think you should have a chance to rest first."

_Ron. Come here. Please._

Ron did, only too glad to feel Harry's hands on the small of his back. 

_Kiss me._ Harry's desire seemed genuine. Ron desperately hoped it was; he was incapable of contemplating the alternative.

_Just a minute. I need to do something first,_ Ron said, reaching behind him to bring Harry's hands around to the front. Ron pulled Harry's bonding band up off of his pinky before taking Harry's right hand and holding it reverently in his hands.

"Will you, Harry James Potter, be handfasted to me to the end of our days, however brief or long they be, to the exclusion of all others?" Ron asked, repeating the question from their ceremony years prior. 

"I will," Harry said passionately as Ron slid the ring down Harry's finger. Harry's eyes shone and adoration radiated from his inhumanly pale features. Ron was overcome with relief, though an indescribable sorrow blanketed him as his thoughts drifted back to their original ceremony, so filled with life and light. Harry looked down at his hand, and then back up at Ron. With infinite tenderness he held Ron's face and kissed him. Ron pressed his lips against Harry's, placing his hands on Harry's shoulders. Silent tears made briny tracks down Ron's cheeks as he realised just how enduringly divided they were from everyone else they'd ever loved.

_I'll never leave you again, never,_ Harry promised, placing a soft kiss on Ron's cheekbone. _Let's go feed. I want to watch you, and learn from you. Then I want to kiss you, to taste the hot blood in your mouth, and drink from my first mortal. And before we sleep, I want to feel you so deep inside of me, to be joined to you, both of us like this._

Harry’s enthusiasm for his new life was unsettling, not to mention his gyrating moods which currently resembled a Snitch trapped in a cage. However, Ron couldn’t deny the frisson of excited bloodlust that instinctively rose in him at Harry’s words. Perhaps after a year or so he would stop being surprised that the idea of drinking blood and choosing and claiming victims came naturally to him, seeing as how he was a vampire. Ron could already tell that Harry didn’t appear to suffer the same moral issues Ron had; then again, Harry had demanded that this be done to him. 

"Ron. You’re thinking too much. How long do we have until sunrise?"

"Probably four hours. Enough time."

"For everything I said?" Harry licked his lips and stared lustfully at Ron.

"I'll make sure."

Into the deeps of the dark night, Ron led Harry down to Timisoara, Harry’s hand clasped in his.


	12. Chapter 11

  
Author's notes:

Additional warning for this chapter: fisting. Please don't go running... Harry demanded it, and as we know in this story, what Harry wants, he gets, no matter what. He also demanded it be tenderly done, and it's some of the most loving sex I've written. 

The line from the song that Ron hears towards the end of the chapter is Philip Glass's setting of the Leonard Cohen poem, "There Are Some Men." I've sung that piece, and love both Glass and Cohen. It's an inspired merging. For the full poem, go here: http://blog.thismagazine.ca/archives/2005/03/cbc_radio_host.html

For a sample of the piece, go here: http://www.philipglass.com/sounds/recordings/some-men.mp3 

* * *

Harry was insatiable.

In those first few days he gloried in his new abilities, treating each discovery of an enhancedpart of himself like a child opening a gift at his birthday. Ron was dragged along when Harrydecided to scale the outside of the Tower of London. Into the frigid waters of Loch Ness they wentswimming, mostly unaffected by cold and with lung capacities that far outstripped a mortal. Theirunderwater vision was nearly the same as above ground, even in the murky fathoms of the lake.Harry still wore his glasses, though he'd modified them so they were no longer corrective, merelydecorative. He put them on each night after he awoke like an actor readying for a part he hasplayed for years. He also figured out a spell to cast on the glass so it camouflaged the unnaturalglittering in his already striking eye colour. Around the flat, Ron began to find scraps ofparchment, newsprint, even now-unused loo paper with random words on them: adjectives and phrasesHarry wrote down in his illegible handwriting as he tried to describe in words the rich harmoniesof flavour he tasted when he drank the blood on which he now existed.

Harry was also focused on sharing his combined senses with Ron and in this endeavour, he wasunceasingly creative. It was as though Harry was seventeen again, with all of the drive to explorehis sexuality but none of the shyness and hesitancy he'd had when actually that age. Ron was hardpressed to complain. Though he suspected Martin would frown on it, Ron and Harry slept togetheragain, locked away during the day in a very cozy, mind-bogglingly impenetrable chamber. Harry, whofrankly had never been the best student in any of his subjects, had come up with insulation andrepelling charms and a complicated, blood-triggered set of locking wards that would have had thegoblins at Gringotts green with envy.

Ron rose earlier than Harry most nights, this night being no exception. It was New Year's Eve, andhe and Harry had been invited to the Manor for a mid-sized party they were both looking forwardto. He left a note for Harry to let him know he was heading to the Burrow for an hour or so tocheck in with Molly. His mum understandably had been frantic and angry at Ron's lack ofcommunication over the holidays. He felt slightly less than awful knowing she could always look atthe grandfather clock where his arrow now constantly pointed to 'Undead.'

When he returned to the flat, Ron knew Harry was up to something, and he could nearly guarantee itwas of an erotic nature. There was a scent of cedar wafting down from their bedroom; Harry hadquite the fondness for candles infused with the woodsy fragrance. It was already ten o'clock, andthe party Seamus and Malfoy were hosting would have started. Maybe Harry was hoping for a quickshag before they got dressed up and Harry made his first public outing since he'd been Changed.They'd agreed not to say anything at first and hope he could still pass as a mortal until they satdown to seriously decide how to proceed with their lives.

"I'm back!" Ron called as he strode up the stairs.

He sensed Harry, but Harry's mind wasn't fully open to him. They tended to keep their individualmental energies to themselves, widening them to each other when it seemed appropriate— oftentimesduring sex. Ron got to the doorway of their room and stopped in his tracks. A few candles werescattered throughout their bedroom, providing ample light to showcase Harry. He was not gettingready for the party; not coming out of the bathroom, damp with a towel hanging low on his hips;not drinking the Ministry blood that they'd agreed to take and to drink properly later on in theearly morning; not doing any of those somewhat expected things. He was lying on his stomach,rutting ever so sinuously against the bed, arms and legs spread. His white buttocks and legsglistened with oil, and there was a nearly monstrous-sized butt plug in his arse.

Caught completely off guard, Ron simply stood there for a few moments, remembering to breathe as avariety of alternately unwholesome and simply baffled thoughts jockeyed for dominance in his mind.

"I'm glad," Harry said with a slight groan, clenching his muscles against the wide intrusion withwhich he'd filled himself.

"What?"

"You're back. I'm glad." Very slowly Harry raised himself up to his elbows and turned to look atRon. His scorching gaze could have singed Ron's eyebrows. "I have a special request before we goto this party of Seamus's and Malfoy's."

Ron made his way over to the bed, arousal definitely kindled in his groin and his pulsequickening. Being physically intimate with Harry so often felt like an act of worship to Ron;they'd both been fortunate in that they'd not gone to seed and purposefully stayed in decentshape. Even before Ron had been Changed, he'd believed he'd be quite old before his mouth stoppedfilling ever so slightly with extra saliva when he saw Harry naked or mostly so. Now he sat on thebed, unable to keep a hand off of Harry's muscled back. Ron's eyes were captivated by the play ofsinews under Harry's lurid phoenix tattoo which graced the entirety of his vee-shaped torso.

With the tips of his fingers, Ron traced the curve of the inked bird's wing, kneading gentle arcsacross Harry's shoulder blades and ribs. All else in the world vanished as he massaged the smoothskin, not looking up, yet knowing that Harry regarded him from under hooded eyelids. As themoments passed, Ron felt Harry's affection for him; it was so powerful it was nearly a livingthing. Ron splayed his hand at the base of Harry's back, placing the palm at the small rise at thevery top of his arse, and concentrated on himself. Seconds later Ron looked over at the floor andwas pleased to see his clothes were there in a somewhat orderly fashion. He'd discovered that hissilent, wandless magic came far easier now that he was a vampire.

Harry made an appreciative noise when he saw Ron was naked and slid back down on to his stomach.Ron moved to straddle Harry's hips, rubbing deeply into Harry's upper back before massagingdownward again, this time with both hands. The colours of the phoenix were unnaturally vividagainst Harry's pale skin, presumably an attribute of the vampiric blood that now flowed throughhim. Unlike many, Harry's tattoo didn't move, but the feathers now glowed and shimmered in a waythey hadn't before, making his underlying ridges of skin and bone all the more striking.

"So beautiful, Harry," Ron said, each word a subdued alleluia.

Harry hummed in pleasure, squeezing his buttocks as though to encourage Ron to move his lovingministrations to the lower part of his anatomy. Ron complied, scooting back to sit on Harry'sthighs, pressing his thumbs into the center of Harry's muscled arsecheeks and drawing wideningcircles into the oiled skin. In this position he was again confronted by the leviathan plug. Themore he looked at it, the more he was certain Harry had cast an engorgement charm on one they'dused in the past. Why on Merlin's green earth Harry felt the need to do so was beyond him.

"Harry," he said in a low voice, "I'd never felt inadequate before, but you're making me wonder."He rubbed his thumbs and forefingers around the intruder, his own cock stiffening to full hardnessas he watched Harry's muscles ripple under his touch.

_Not at all,_ Harry said silently, his telepathic voice as infused with passion as Ron had everheard it aloud. _There's something I want you to do. It's an idea I'd had in the past but feltawkward asking. Now I'm not embarrassed. Look at me._

Ron straightened up, continuing to rub circles into Harry's squarish muscles. Harry rose up to hiselbows again, curving around so he could look straight into Ron's eyes, the most effective way toperform Legilimency. Ron was sent an incredibly vivid image from Harry's mind's eye. Harry was onhis stomach, clutching the sheets and undulating sluggishly while Ron with infinite slownessturned his entire hand around inside him, his wrist disappearing into Harry's clenching heat.

"Fuck, Harry," Ron gasped as the images kept coming. Harry was groaning half-sentences at thesensations his imaginary Ron elicited from him, saying how full he was, how amazing to have Ronclaim him that way. Harry was obviously rapturous in his own imagination.

Ron couldn't help it, but he was appalled. _Why?_ he asked, genuinely discomfited with the idea ofdoing _that_ to his beloved.

_I don't know._ Harry's expression was one of wanton pleading. _I just do. I really, really want youto do it. You won't hurt me— it's why I've been lying here getting stretched out. You'll begentle, I know you will._

_Fuck,_ Ron repeated.

_Please. Want to know how your whole strong hand will feel._

Harry didn't wait for an answer; he turned back around and rolled to his side, letting his top legdrape forward. Ron moved to accommodate Harry's new position. Despite his misgivings, he wasforced to admire the view of Harry's cheeks surrounding the toy and his furred sacs below. The jarof sage-scented lubricant moved from the bedside table to plop next to Ron's hand on the bed.Harry was intent on Ron fisting him; there was nothing to be done except _do_ it.

_Ron, I want you, gods, can't you tell how I'm ready for you? You've always been so good to me. Ineed this, need to you to claim me._

Those words shook Ron into action. He'd never stinted in his physical affection for Harry before,and he wasn't going to start now. As he gently pulled the plug from Harry, it made a slicksquelching noise. Harry moaned at its loss, his hole still wider than usual as he remainedrelaxed. Ron's cock felt like an iron rod; he wanted nothing more than to press into thatwelcoming ring and thrust as hard as he could.

_Before we settle to sleep for the day, you can do that,_ Harry promised.

Ron hadn't realised he'd left his thoughts so open, but decided it was a good idea. What Harry wasasking for seemed so terribly intimate, and demanded boundless trust. He'd held Harry while he'dpassed through his own death and emerged on the other side; he could do this, too. Harry angledhimself so he could reach his cock and began pulling languidly on it as Ron readied his hand,rubbing the unguent all over it until it was coated to the wrist. He took a moment to steadyhimself, scooting until he was spooned behind Harry, left hand planted on the bedcovering. Thefirst part would be familiar enough; easily he eased three fingers into Harry's anus, pushinginward and manoeuvering them until he brushed against Harry's prostate.

"Ron, so good," Harry sighed, spreading his legs a bit further so Ron had as much room as heneeded. Ron's own cock twitched at his lover's obvious heightened arousal. Harry seemed determinedto focus primarily on what Ron was doing, slowing his motions on his cock and closing his eyes.Ron felt flushed, his blood pounding in his ears as Harry rocked back against his hand, wantingmore.

_I love you._ Harry tightened his muscles around Ron's fingers for emphasis.

_Fuck, love you so much,_ Ron replied, looking down at his aching erection and deciding it couldwait. He pulled out his fingers to add his pinky and thumb, mashing them together as close as hecould, then carefully he pressed back into the well-oiled entrance.

_Yessssssss,_ Harry said, the sibilant turning to Parseltongue as Ron pushed further and furtherinto the tight channel. Hearing Harry's ecstatic words in such a sexy manner nudged Ron beyond hisdiscomfort and inhibitions. He pressed further into Harry's body until his hand and wrist werefully inside him and he stopped. Ron didn't sweat to the degree he had as a mortal, but theexertion of the physical demand and his own emotional struggle left him gasping.

He'd done it.

"Oh Ron, oh my fucking beautiful Ron. Move it around, just a little bit, oh Merlin," Harry chokedout in a guttural voice, beginning to pick up speed on his cock.

Ron swallowed the whimper that threatened to spill out of him, twisting his hand with minutemovements, encased in Harry's heated muscles. The scene was even more erotic than Harry's initialprojection, as now he flooded Ron with the sensations of how he felt, the burning fullness anddesire and how loved and needed he was.

"Oh gods, Ronfuckfuckyes, oh my _fuck_ ," Harry moaned, low and long, his whole body shuddering. Theflames on all the candles roared upward like torches as Harry's orgasm wrenched its way out ofhim, covering his hand with white liquid. Startled at the wild magic, Ron began to pull out hishand.

"Wait, oh wait, please," Harry panted, still milking the release from his cock, rubbing the topwith his thumb and turning his head to gaze at Ron. His pupils were so dilated his eyes were blackwith only a rim of green. The flames lowered down to their normal flickering height as Harry'sbreathing became more regular. Slowly he nodded, and with excruciating care, Ron closed hisfingers and guided his hand back outside of Harry's arse. He couldn't tear his gaze away fromHarry, who lay there, legs sprawled, pearly ejaculate dripping in viscous drops onto thebedcovers, looking inexplicably innocent.

_Yours,_ Harry murmured, a sated smile blooming on his face. _C'mere._

Ron wriggled his fingers, wiping the lubricant on his thigh as Harry turned on his back. Harrywinced for a moment before rocking his hips from side to side as evidently his inner muscles bydegrees returned to their usual state. Ron crawled up to lie next to Harry, nestling his headagainst Harry's neck.

"Was it okay?" Ron asked, surprised at his hoarse voice.

"Unreal."

Harry ran his fingers through Ron's hair, making barely audible contented noises with each exhaledbreath. The air was heavy with the musky, tangy smell of sex and exertion. Even Harry's rapture ashe'd been filled so completely seemed to mingle with the aromas.

"I want to take care of you now," Harry said, glancing meaningfully at Ron's hard shaft, pressedagainst Harry's thigh. "Come up here and let me thank you with my mouth."

Ron did. Egged on by Harry's affirming noises and around his cock, he held onto their headboardand thrust as deeply into Harry's mouth as Harry would let him. Ron had been so keyed up by theirearlier activity it didn't take him long to come. He did so with a keening howl, his cock pulsinginto Harry's greedy, waiting mouth. As he settled back into his body from the intense release,Harry bestowed tender licks on Ron's sensitive penis. The attentions were almost too much,especially when Ron was able to focus on the enthralled look on Harry's face. He was renderedspeechless by the barrage of gratitude he could feel emanating from Harry, even though Harry hadclosed much of his mind to focus on his task.

"You're really amazing," Ron said, sinking to his knees to sit in Harry's lap. "I could stay hereand we could make love all night, but we've a party to get to."

"I may need a break, for a couple of hours, anyway," Harry said cheekily. He leaned up to plant adeep kiss on Ron's mouth so that Ron had a faint taste of himself. "What're we wearing?"

"Dunno," Ron admitted. "Hadn't thought about it. If it's at the Manor, I reckon it'll be prettyswanky."

"Might as well get some more use out of those Muggle tuxedos."

Ron looked at Harry and arched an eyebrow. "You know what happened the last time we wore those."

"Like I said, even being immortal and self-healing, I'm not going to beg you to shag me whilehidden behind some decoratively-trimmed shrubbery. Or at least I don't think so." Harry winked,tapping at Ron's chest for him to get out of his lap.

"Who's to say I wouldn't beg you?" Ron asked with a grin.

"Guess we'll have to go and find out."

Ron rolled off of Harry and watched him as he went into their bathroom, an irrepressible bubble ofoptimism expanding in his chest. Things were going to be okay.

* * * * *

"You're late!" Seamus shouted as he saw Ron and Harry enter through the massive entrance doors tothe Manor.

"A vampire is never late, Seamus Finnigan!" Ron yelled back, gleefully adapting a line from theMuggle film version of his dear _Lord of the Rings._ "He arrives just when he means to!"

Seamus waved them over and they made their way through the throng dancing to the band Seamus andDraco had hired, Calliope's Calliope. Several people waved to Harry, who still bore a fading auraof celebrity status, much to his chagrin. "Happy New Year!" Seamus exclaimed, hugging both of themand sloshing his drink on the floor near Harry's shoes.

"Happy New Year!" Ron and Harry replied in turn.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Seamus said suddenly to Harry.

Ron flinched. He'd truly believed that Harry would pass as a regular human being, especially sincemost people were in various stages of inebriation and he'd cast a barely noticeable glamour togive Harry less porcelain-looking skin.

"What do you mean?" Harry hedged.

"The Green Knights! You up and quit, no explanation, nothing!"

"Oh, well, with everything that had gone on," he waved at Ron, who frowned, "I cracked, sort of."

"Not a good enough explanation," Seamus said loudly. Ron could tell he was about to begin grillingHarry when Draco walked purposefully toward their small group.

"Seamus, I need you in the other room. Weasley. Potter. Happy New Year. Nice of you to show up,"he said snidely.

"Happy New Year to you too, Malfoy," Ron replied, trying to restrain his temper. "Thanks forinviting us."

"Seamus insisted," Draco said in his usual drawl. "Come on, there are some other guests we need totalk to," he said, placing his hand gently on Seamus's shoulder.

"Be right there, I promise," Seamus enthused.

Draco pursed his lips, turned on his heel and went back toward the library.

"My dragon," Seamus sighed happily. "Never dreamed I'd get so lucky. Right! What was I saying?"

Ron tried to disguise his distaste while Harry used a polite tactic to create a diversion.

"Seamus, Ron and I'll just go get ourselves a couple of drinks and we'll find you again, allright?"

"Brilliant! Thanks!" Seamus said, raising his glass in a toast. "To happy couples!"

Ron and Harry mimed his toast, watching Seamus down his Bitter Banshee. He grinned widely at them."Let's get together again soon, just the four of us, like you keep offering," he said, jabbing atRon. "Oh! Be sure to find Martin. He's around here somewhere."

"You invited Martin?" Ron asked, incredulous.

"Bloody hell, yes. He saved your fucking arse, he did. And he gave us a spiffy set of crystaltumblers as thanks for us housing him safely and discreetly that day afterwards. Charming bloke.Oh fuck, I've really got to go find Draco. See you later!"

With a jaunty salute, Seamus was gone, off into the crowd.

"Martin will know about me immediately," Harry said, eyebrows furrowed.

"He already does."

"Martin!" Ron whirled around, overjoyed at hearing his voice.

"Ronald." Martin's expression was stern, but Ron could tell he was glad to see him. The oldervampire drew Ron into a warm embrace. _You and I need to speak, youngling. This other fledgling,too._

Ron pulled slowly back from Martin, struggling backward as though pulling himself out of a vat oftaffy. _What happened to calling him 'my Harry?'_ he asked, already dreading the answer.

_He is a willful, newly-created vampire, Ronald. I doubt he will ever again resemble the mortal youloved so deeply._

"Martin. Good to see you again." Harry's verbal interjection sliced cleanly through Ron andMartin's silent communications. His displeasure at being left out was flagrantly obvious, furtherdemonstrated when he laced his arm through Ron's in a possessive gesture. "I suggest that we go toa quieter place where we can talk. All of us."

"Oooooh! Ron Weasley! _And_ Harry Potter! Picture, please!"

"Who on earth is that woman, and why is she yelling like a banshee?" Martin asked in amazement.

"Rita Skeeter," Ron growled, as she and her equipment-wielding entourage approached. "Journalist,if you can call her that."

"Nightmare is far more appropriate," Harry clarified. "Why's she here, do you think?"

"Dunno. Seamus and Malfoy are both filthy rich and decent looking. That's probably story enough."

"Ron Weasley! You're looking well," Rita said, sidling familiarly up to Ron as though he hadn'tstormed away from her the last time they'd been in the same room.

"Thanks," he grumbled.

"And Harry! Harry, you're a bit pale these days, but I'm sure that's to be expected," she gushed,jostling her elbow to move Martin out of the way. "I don't suppose I could ask for an exclusiveinterview—"

"I have absolutely nothing to say to the Prophet about my personal life," Harry said menacingly."Take your photo and move on."

Rita sneered, curling her upper lip unattractively before imposing her usual forced gregariouspersona. "A photo of you two will be divine, just divine. MAVERICK!" she screeched over hershoulder, her voice nearly as loud as the band.

_Photographs are generally not kind to vampires,_ Martin warned. _Especially those trying to remainundiscovered._

_Guess we'll have to chance it,_ Ron said resignedly. _He's the one who agreed._

Harry had picked up on the interchange, although he seemed not to be able to hear it himself whenMartin and Ron communicated telepathically.

"The faster this is over with, the better," he said disgustedly. "I really dislike being left outof things, especially when they concern my bondmate." The last comment was directed to Martin, whomerely sipped on a glass of wine, decidedly unruffled.

"Okay, smile you two!"

Ron loathed getting his picture taken; he didn't feel he was photogenic at all. He especiallydisliked posed pictures like this. In fact, his absolute favourite picture of them had been takenunbeknownst to him or Harry at the reception following their handfasting ceremony. They'd managedto get away from their guests for precious minutes to sit on a low wall and check in with eachother. Colin Creevey had been experimenting with a long-range lens on his camera and took aphotograph as they sat, chatting quietly. In the picture they gazed at each other with thankfuldisbelief. Ron eventually raised his hand to place it under Harry's jaw, his thumb caressingHarry's cheekbone as he shook his head, overwhelmed that the ceremony had finally come to pass.There would be none of that tenderness expressed in this picture.

The camera flashed, Rita cooed, and Ron and Harry were left in relative peace again.

"So, Harry," Martin said. "I believe we have a few matters to discuss."

"Indeed."

Ron was stunned to realise that Harry was sizing up Martin, comparing perceived strengths andweaknesses. "Hey. Martin's on our side," he reminded him under his breath.

"I think we should get away from all these people," Harry said, ignoring the comment. He beganleading the trio back toward a garden entrance when Ron said, "You go ahead— I'll be right there.I'll get us some drinks."

"Why? It doesn't do anything for us."

"Because it's New Year's Eve and you'll look pretty bloody suspicious if you don't at least have adrink in hand," Ron said peevishly. "Even Martin's got some wine." Between Rita Skeeter'sunwelcome appearance and feeling that Harry was purposefully forcing Ron's loyalties, he wasbeginning to get pissed off.

"Fine. We'll be near the conservatory."

Ron threaded through the mingling guests, retrieved two drinks and set off to the back part of theManor. True to his word, Harry and Martin were near the glass structure which, like all thingsMalfoysian save Draco himself, was massive. He handed Harry a flute of champagne.

"I would like to propose a toast," Martin said, and Ron turned to him in surprise. "To another newyear. May it be only the first of a great many we greet together."

"Thank you." Ron touched his glass to Martin's, overcome by the compassion in his eyes.

"I spoke from the heart; I'm glad you have stumbled bravely into my life, Ronald."

"Thanks for taking care of him," Harry said, tapping his glass to Martin's, though his expressionwas guarded.

They drank in silence until Martin somberly said to Harry, "I see you've achieved your goal,fledgling. You caused Ronald much grief in pursuing this path, which I only tolerated because hebelieves you've chosen it to remain with him."

"That's right," Harry said stubbornly. "Now I'm one of your kind. Nothing— no one," he said withwarning in his voice, "can separate us. We'd gone through everything together, and I wasn't goingto be left behind. Anyway, who in Hades do you think you are to tell me about Ron's feelings, likeI don't know? He's my fucking husband."

"That's a charming sentiment," Martin said, arching an eyebrow.

"Harry," Ron rumbled angrily. "Why are you being such a berk? All Martin's ever done is help me,and you're getting all territorial like Martin's coming on to me or something. That's crazy, thatis."

"You see me as a potential threat." Martin took a sip of his wine, looking evenly at Harry."You're used to Ronald looking up to you, to you being seen as one of the most powerful people inyour world, even if you didn't flaunt it. And most of all, you're used to being the guiding forcein Ronald's life. You can't stand the thought of him being influenced by someone else, especiallysomeone who can help him in ways that you cannot."

Ron could tell Harry was furious, but Harry had imposed a steely, emotionless guise to prevent anyunfortunate wild magic incidents.

"When Ronald was nearly burned to a crisp early in his days as a vampire and I helped heal him, Itold you that I was not trying to take him from you. Honestly, Mr. Potter. Why should I do such athing?" Martin paused to look fondly at Ron. "Unbeknownst to himself, Ronald was emitting cries ofdistress, which I answered before any others who are far less civilised than myself decided toheed his calls. He reminds me of one I knew long ago, and that is all. Now you've gone and becomean unnaturally powerful dark child who around me becomes paranoid and belligerent. Think of whomthis harms, ultimately."

Harry scowled, looked at Ron, then back at Martin. "Ron spent days with Marilena. He doesn't needyour help anymore."

"Ah. She's the one who Made you, I gather. I could see no imprint of Ronald on you, so I assumedhe'd escaped that fate."

"Look!" Ron said, exasperated. "This is stupid. We're all vampires, why can't you two get along?"

"It doesn't matter to me whether or not this fledgling and I are on good terms. But I care foryou, and you care for him."

"Ron loves me. He would've died for me," Harry said in a threatening voice.

"Harry? I think I know what the problem is. Neither of us have fed properly, and I know you hateRita Skeeter as much as I do. It's all made you a bit testy. Really testy. Let's go into Londonand feed and see what craziness the Muggles are up to." Ron wasn't sure where that idea had comefrom, but he was quite pleased with it.

"All right." Harry looked relieved and intrigued. He glanced at Martin, and Ron could sense Harrywas warring with himself over something. "Martin? Would you care to come along?" he asked, thoughthe words were blatantly distasteful to him.

A smile flitted across Martin's face. "Thank you very much for the kind invitation, but I believeI'll stay here. I haven't had much of an opportunity to speak with our hosts, and I know you findthe experience of drinking together a very powerful one. I respect that."

"If not tonight, another time," Ron suggested.

"That would be interesting indeed," Martin concurred before turning to Harry. "As you've changed agreat deal with your Making, I bequeath a new name to you. You will be known as Wren by our kind."

"Wren? Why not just call me bloody Crow because I have black hair and can fly?" Harry asked, hisanger rising again. "Or Phoenix. I've got one tattooed on my back."

Martin made a "hmm"ing sound at that remark. "Obviously they don't teach Celtic mythology in yourmagic schools. The wren is sacrificed at the waning of the year, and that was when you were Made."Martin nodded briefly to Ron and Harry, who looked somewhat less disgruntled at the explanation ofhis new name. "Good night, both of you. Be aware of your surroundings, as I think there are somemortals who are already suspicious of you, Wren. I doubt you'll be able to keep your true nature asecret for long."

"Thanks for the advice, Martin. See you," Ron said, smiling apologetically on Harry's behalf.

They watched Martin glide back to the revelers inside the Manor.

"Now what?" Harry asked.

"London?" Ron offered with a shrug. "You need to feed on real blood. Merlin's hairy bollocks, Ihaven't seen you that rude in ages."

"It's just not in me to trust him," Harry confided, staring down into his champagne. "I can'texplain it more than that."

Ron looked at his bubbling beverage and set down the glass. "C'mon, let's Apparate out of here.I'm dying of thirst."

They agreed to go to a point not far from the London museum and vanished with near-identical _crack!_ s. For the next few hours they wandered around London, choosing victims at random or bylevel of intoxication. Neither of them claimed any lives, though Ron could tell Harry was waveringover one particularly ogreish man. Ron kept feeling that they were being watched, but neither henor Harry could tell that they were being followed, and they steered far clear of any wizardingpresences. Ron finally decided he was overly paranoid due to Martin's admonitions. At one pointRon heard a distant choir singing, though why they were having a concert at that hour of NewYear's morning Ron couldn't hazard a guess. The words and music struck him, and he focused hisenhanced hearing on it.

_There are some men who should have mountains to bear their names to time…_

The text made Ron think of Harry, and all he had overcome and survived to be where he was at thatmoment, thrumming with mortal blood and his arm slung around Ron's waist. Ron had an irrepressibledesire for Harry to be with him, to be _in_ him; for Ron somehow to be able to possess even for afew moments the indisputable, compelling nature that was Harry, whether vampire or not. He openedhis thoughts to Harry, showing him his desires.

Harry stopped and turned to look at him, surprise on his face. "You want to go home and for me topretend like it's the first time you asked me to fuck you?"

"Something like that." Ron leaned forward so his forehead touched Harry's. He was oblivious to thepeople altering their paths to avoid running into them; they were like two stones in afast-running brook. "I guess I want to feel innocent again. To remember what it was like thatfirst, amazing time I knew what it was like to really be a part of you, because you were a part ofme."

Harry nodded slightly. "I wouldn't mind feeling that again myself. Remember when you went batty atCharlie's party?"

Ron grimaced. "Hard to forget."

"Well, I think I may have been a bit like that tonight. Something about Martin brings it out inme, but being around you calms me down. Let's go home and I'll focus my energies on you. Youcertainly deserve it for putting up with some of the shite I've dragged you through."

"I deserve it because you do. We're just meant to be. Best mates, best everything. Worsteverything, sometimes," Ron said, chagrined.

"Not often." Harry was almost chiding, but his demeanour bespoke patient acceptance. "Let's gethome and get naked. There's someone I know and love who needs to be deflowered for a second time."

* * * * *

Ron listened carefully to Harry's burbling stream of reassuring words. He felt Harry's gentle butpersistent touches as fingers, tongue, and finally blunt nudging of Harry's velvet-hard fleshbreached him, pushing into his tense muscles inch by careful inch until at last Harry was stoppedby his own body.

"Okay?" Harry whispered and Ron nodded, feeling the dull burning subside as his body adjusted toHarry's fullness. Fingers clenched around his shins, Ron forced himself to stay open, wide andexposed to his lover who would never do him harm on purpose.

"If I move, you'll feel really great things," Harry said earnestly, circling his hips as Ronmoaned. "I do when you're fucking me, when you tell me how hot and tight I am, how you can'tbelieve we can be together this way. Let me make you feel that, too."

"Fuck yes," Ron sighed, loosening his white-knuckled grip on his legs and lowering his shins so hecould wrap his calves around Harry's waist. "Feeling you inside me's amazing. Want you to feelwhat it's like to me when I'm so deep in you. Gods, _move_."

Of course it wasn't Ron's first time at all; he couldn't have begun to guess how many times Harryhad penetrated him during their fourteen year intimate history. In this moment, however, even withthe same cedar candles from earlier in the night, as Ron looked into Harry's eerily luminous eyesand saw his fangs barely protruding into his mouth, Ron imagined he'd never felt the sensationsbefore. He basked in Harry's praise and profanity as Harry gently, but purposefully thrust in andout of him. Ron's own orgasm was like a sluggish volcano, intense and molten as his body pulsedwith pleasure.

The pull of sunrise fell first on Harry. They put on boxers and t-shirts, vintage Wheezes' wear ofgarish fuchsia, before they shuffled off to bed. Ron enacted the wards after Harry engaged thelocks and they collapsed on the mattress.

"Thank you," Ron breathed against Harry's neck, spooning up behind him.

"Love you. Sleep well," Harry yawned.

"You too." Ron listened as Harry's breaths became deep and even then he, too, was pulled into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter 12

  
Author's notes: This is the final chapter, but there will be an epilogue shortly forthcoming. Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying this story as much as I have!   


* * *

Ron sensed the maelstrom of kinetic activity going on outside of the flat as soon as he left the comfortable sepulcher where Harry was still fast asleep. Due to Harry's lingering celebrity status, they'd taken no shortage of precautions to ward their home and fireplace. Consequently they'd avoided having any uninvited visitors via the floo network or Apparition. As Ron walked toward the front door to get their copy of the Prophet, he felt the presence of dozens of beings outside, though he didn't believe any were family or friends. Cautiously he readied his wand and opened the door.  
  
There was a wall of owls and other postal birds, hooting and filling the air with the whirring sound of flapping wings. Aristotle, Hermione's tawny owl, and Mercury from the Burrow flew insistently toward him, each landing on a shoulder. Ron leaned down to snatch up his copy of the day's news before bidding a hasty retreat back into the flat, both owls still on his shoulders.  
  
"What's happened?" he asked into the peace and quiet of the entrance hall as both owls began pecking at him. Ron untied Mercury's scroll and then Aristotle's, ignoring their discontented nips as they waited fruitlessly for a treat. Shoving the parchments under his arm, he unrolled the newspaper and suddenly the reason for the avian ruckus outside the door became blatantly apparent.  
  
HARRY POTTER – VAMPIRE!! the headline blared in pulsing, scarlet letters. A picture of him sinking his fangs into the neck of a drunken Muggle Londoner played again and again, Harry's expression one of bliss as he slowly drank. Ron watched Harry's throat as he swallowed repeatedly in the photograph. He knew it was accurate and not manipulated; he'd been standing right there. How in Hades had a photographer caught that moment? He and Harry had been especially aware of any wizarding energies the night before. This was so very, very wrong. Ron skimmed the article and saw a caption explaining the new Blackbeetle device that took pictures in the dark using inverse film with no flash. After it ran out of film, it retracted its 'legs' and rolled away, its hard shell protecting it until it was summoned using a process similar to a reverse portkey.  
  
"She's fucking unbelievable! I'm going to tear into her fucking throat and slash it to shreds so she never talks again," Ron raged, realising it could only have been Rita Skeeter or one of her hired hands who had put the secretive device on him while they were at the New Year's party. He was so angry his hands began to shake. The article demanded that Harry call a press conference as soon as possible. It also said disparaging things about Ron, insinuating that he'd been the one to Change Harry, and posited negative attributes to Harry in regards to his sexual preferences. The article had this conclusion:  
  
 _"While the Greensweep Reform Act of 2005 made same-gender bindings legal, it is still commonly agreed that such couplings are assumed to be rare and are not necessarily condoned by the general public. That this has happened makes such relationships appear all the more unnatural, though Mr. Potter has made vehement statements to the contrary in the past.  
  
Ron Weasley was never under any suspicion as to his own unfortunate forced vampirism that occurred this past October, but given his and Harry's close relationship, it can be inferred that he made it seem appealing enough that Harry demanded he be made into a Dark Creature. There is, of course, a possibility that his conversion happened by accident; until Harry comes forth to explain why and how he has become a vampire, we are left with conjecture only. What is definitive from these photographs is that he is no longer human, and like his partner Ron Weasley, he must be accorded his new status and documented at the Vampire Registry."_  
  
Ron stared at the newspaper, his anger mounting. He heard an odd noise as he got more and more incensed and glared at the wall where two paintings shook.  
  
"Ron! Shite, calm down; your magic's about to make that art shred itself. Oh, hi," Harry said as the two owls flew to him.  
  
"Rita Skeeter should be flayed, her eyes gouged out and her tongue forcefully ripped out of her mouth," Ron fumed, shoving the newspaper at Harry. "One of her photographers put some secret camera on me and got photos of you feeding last night."  
  
Harry eyed the front page, making an annoyed grunt when Mercury nipped at his head. "So she did. Well, I guess it's time for a press conference. What a circus."  
  
Ron stared at him in disbelief. "That's it? You're not furious? They totally invaded our privacy without us knowing! You're pictured on three-quarters of the fucking front page sucking on some Muggle bloke's neck!"  
  
Harry shrugged, folding the paper in half. "I don't care. I'll let them know that you didn't Change me but who did is my business. I'll make a formal apology to the Green Knights, announce that I renewed my handfasting vows to you days ago and I've never been ashamed of who I am, and as far as I'm concerned, the British wizarding world can fuck off."   
  
At Harry's blunt, dispassionate response, the ire fueling Ron's indignations seeped away, leaving him feeling deflated and adrift.   
  
"We don't have any steak or anything around anymore, do we?" Harry asked, glancing at one owl and then the other.  
  
Ron shook his head, then nodded, at last saying in an exasperated voice, "I don't know. The bloody birds can wait."  
  
"What did Hermione and whomever from your family have to say?"  
  
"Bollocks. Hadn't even read their scrolls." Ron reached under his left arm to retrieve the two rolls of parchment. Hermione's note demanded explanations, expressed terrible apprehension and that she wanted to come over right away. The other one was from Arthur, asking if Martin had had anything to do with this turn of events and wouldn't he and Harry come visit as soon as possible since Molly was nearly around the bend with worry, as was he.  
  
"Well?" Harry asked from the dining room. He'd found some tinned meat on which the two owls seemed happy to feast.  
  
"Hermione wants to come here. Dad and mum want us at the Burrow. They're rightfully worried, Harry. You've got me a bit anxious, too."  
  
"Anxious? Why?" Harry appeared honestly perplexed.   
  
"Why?" Ron repeated. His inner subdued roilings began picking up the pace, now directed at Harry. "You've agreed to a farce of a briefing without putting up a fight and you don't even seem upset that you've been outed as a vampire."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Fine!" Ron said explosively. "But what the fuck's this about telling the world to get stuffed?"  
  
"Not the whole world, Ron," Harry said, moving closer to take Ron's hand. "Just our world. How relevant are they to us anymore? We'll live forever. We can go anywhere, do anything. I have money, and we can disappear into any Muggle country we wish to, or find some isolated wizarding areas wherever we want. Isn't that brilliant?"  
  
Ron blinked several times. The apparition in front of him certainly looked like Harry, and sounded like him as well. And yet… he sure didn't currently resemble the stubborn, occasionally jealous, but primarily good-natured man he'd known for two decades. "You were nearly killed multiple times while you were growing up, all for the defense of good in our world. Your parents. Don't you care about their sacrifice for you anymore? What about our friends and my family? What about me?"  
  
Harry looked pityingly at Ron. In a normal universe, it would have made Ron's blood boil, but for some contrary reason it made a tremour of fear jangle down his spine instead. "Ron, I'd never leave you, not for all that long. But I see things so differently now. We don't have to pay attention to the stupid Ministry of Magic, or the Wizengamot, or anybody. Think about it: they don't even really want us. We're Dark Creatures. I'm a man-loving, well, you-loving vampire, an anomoly who's never done what any one person really wanted, except maybe Dumbledore."  
  
Ron waited for the words to sink in, but it was as though they were raindrops falling on a stalwart _Repello_ charm. "You killed Voldemort."  
  
"Yes, but it was that or be killed. I didn't really do it for the betterment of the world as I knew it. I was determined to survive. I wanted for it all to be over and you and me to get on with our lives and play Quidditch and have sex and be bad influences on our friends' kids and travel and get older and just be _normal_."   
  
"Couldn't be much further from normal now," Ron said in a low voice, withdrawing his hand from Harry's to go and stand by the fireplace.  
  
"Ron, I don't understand," Harry said earnestly. "There's so much we can do! I know that you had a hard time at first, because you didn't ask to be like this, and you had me to worry about. But now I'm Changed, too. Who cares what people think? We're powerful enough to keep ourselves safe and we haven't killed anyone. There's no reason why anybody would try to set us on fire in our sleep or anything laughable like that."  
  
"I'm just not ready to give up this life," Ron said, the misery of his and Harry's divide pulsing with each heartbeat. "I guess it's great that you are, but I can't. Not yet."  
  
Soundlessly Harry padded over to Ron and pulled him away from the mantle and against his chest. "They're mortal, we're not. I surrendered that life to be with you, because after only a couple of months I knew it would make me crazy otherwise."  
  
"I still want to be a Healer," Ron said in a voice muffled by Harry's untamed hair. "It hasn't been very long, and I don't want to just go off, no explanation, nothing. How can you wake up and decide you're done with it all? We hadn't even talked about what we wanted to do! Why are you so different from me?"  
  
Harry rubbed Ron's back in comforting circles even as Ron's thirst began battering at his consciousness. They'd both need to drink, and soon.  
  
"I don't know," Harry murmured against Ron's jaw. "My Change doesn't bother me, I don't know why. Maybe because I wanted it so desperately. It could just be us. We've been best mates for ages, but we're very different people. I'm incomplete without you, you know. But if you know you want to do something for a while, like try and convince our idiotic government that you should be allowed to practice as the skilled Healer you are and I need to go solo exploring or see what vampires in Iceland are like, or disappear into the Muggle world and not be Harry Fucking Potter for a while, we don't have the kinds of time restraints we used to." He rubbed his lips against Ron's cheek, mouthing a dry kiss. "I'd never really leave you— I can't. I don't want to. Not in the grand scheme of things. You're the only one I have desires for, and I can't imagine that those needs will go away.   
  
Ron dug his fingers into the soft flesh at the top of Harry's arse. "Martin said they do," he said piteously. "But he didn't say how long it takes."  
  
"Martin's not a wizard."   
  
Harry stepped back so he could look at Ron. As Ron contemplated the lustrous, unnatural light in Harry's eyes, he sought the half-human part that was supposedly there, reflected in his own eyes.   
  
"Don't you want to stick around and watch Xavier grow up, or see exactly when Hermione and Dean figure out their attraction to each other is the most painfully obvious thing since… well, it's stupid they aren't shagging now. The Cannons could win. You wouldn't care," Ron said.  
  
"I've only ever supported the Cannons because of you."  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
Harry tilted his head, his expression contemplative. "For so long I reckoned I'd die before seeing thirty. Now I'll be thirty-one forever, and it doesn't bother me to let our friends live their lives without me being a part of them. But you and I will always be together, even when separate. Our bond is only one step from being truly complete, and I don't feel rushed about things anymore. If you need to spend fifty years, or a hundred to stay in the wizarding world, or however long— you should. I probably won't be with you all the time, but we're beyond that now."  
  
Ron stood mute, feeling as though Harry's words were bouncing rocks, smaller heralds of an avalanche not far behind.  
  
"Drink from me, now," Harry entreated him. "We'll be sealed to each other forever, your vampiric blood in me, and mine in you. Then I'll owl Rita Skeeter and we can go together to the Registry, and I'll sign my name with bright red ink in that mouldy book right below the words Ronald Bilius Weasley. I'll talk for a bit, probably give back my Order of Merlin medal, and then we'll go feed, someplace Muggle and far away from here."  
  
"You should keep your medal," Ron said, leaning in for a bittersweet kiss.   
  
Stubbornly, inescapably, he felt his heart breaking into bits and fragments like pieces in a kaleidoscope. He knew they would form and reform in countless patterns and shapes, but never again would it be the whole it had once been. It was as though his spirit had been wrapped in a shroud, a shadow of the dread he'd felt during his first exposure to a Dementor. Closing his eyes as Harry offered his throat, Ron willed the prominence of his fangs before pressing them gently into the chilly flesh. Harry's blood filled his mouth, the taste similar to when he was a mortal, now even more rich and prismatic as it reverberated in his body. Ron drank deeply and gently until he knew any more would begin to weaken Harry. Unwilling to spill a drop, he licked around his lips as he stood upright.  
  
Harry gazed at him, his untroubled expression almost putting Ron at ease. _Let's get this next part over with,_ Harry said silently. _I'll let Rita know we'll be at the Vampire Registry at ten while you firecall Hermione and your parents. I'm unbelievably thirsty, but don't want to try and sneak out at this point.  
  
Okay._ Ron opened his arms, trusting that Harry would read his vulnerable body language. Harry shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around Ron's ribs and holding him tightly.   
  
_I'm not going to go anywhere right away, I don't think,_ Harry said quietly. _I promise you I'll never go without telling you first, and I'll always want you to come with me.  
  
We'll see. Can't stand to think about it anymore right now._ "C'mon. The sooner we start this mess the sooner it's over," Ron said, trying to garner strength in speaking the words aloud.  
  
"We've faced far worse," Harry reminded him as they moved apart.  
  
"I don't know that I've ever felt worse, though," Ron muttered to himself as he went to retrieve his wand and unblock their fireplace.  
  
 _I'll make you feel better later, I promise.  
  
I may need some time alone, just to think. But I'll probably let you take care of me before sunrise,_ Ron admitted.  
  
Harry flashed a quick smile and headed to a desk to write his note as Ron set to his tasks.  
  
* * * * *  
  
By one a.m. it was done: Harry was a registered vampire. He'd answered a smattering of the deluge of questions lobbed at him by Rita and other journalists, providing only the basics in regards to actual information. His apology to his Quidditch team was profuse and heartfelt. He suggested that new studies be made into wizarding vampires and refused outright to name who had Made him, only stating unequivocally that it wasn't Ron. Thankfully the event wasn't as carnival-like as it could have been and they managed to get the crowd down to just Arthur, Molly, Hermione, Dean, Seamus and Draco. Afterwards, over some drinks at the Leaky Cauldron Harry filled in a few more details while Ron sat silently at his side. He ignored Hermione's ill-concealed attempts to get him to contribute to what had prompted Harry's decision, as well as Draco's jealous glances from Seamus to Ron and Harry. Perhaps Seamus had felt guilty and told Malfoy he'd asked Ron to drink from him back in November, and now Malfoy was worried Seamus would do it again with Harry. Ron was only too glad that it wasn't his problem.   
  
He realised that except for Harry himself, there was really only one other person he could talk to about all of this. He thought about calling telepathically to Martin outright, but decided that his instinct to go off alone for a bit was probably sound. At a lull in the conversation, he acted on Harry's behalf.   
  
"Look, Harry and I've got to feed. I'm glad you're not judging him, and it was great you all came to this last-minute stupid conference. We need to be getting on, and you all need sleep, too."  
  
"Well, all right, but Harry!" Hermione demanded. "What are you going to _do_?"  
  
The tension at the table was thick as chilled honey. Even Ron held his breath, unsure how Harry would answer.  
  
"I'm going to recommend that you and Dean finally acknowledge how desperately fond of each other you are and go out on a proper date. Ron, let's go."  
  
They left Hermione blushing and spluttering, Seamus slapping Dean good-naturedly on the back, and Molly's strained words of "Be careful, my dears," ringing in Ron's ears.  
  
"Where should we go?" Harry asked excitedly.  
  
"You go. Your blood's so strong I might not need to feed for several days. And honestly, my thoughts are going in such circles it's like a typhoon in my head. Think I'll go out to Tiree and have a long wander."  
  
"Oh." Harry's disappointment was evident, though it seemed to pass quickly. "You'll still let me love on you before sunrise, right?"  
  
"If you still want to." Ron hedged his bets, too heartsore really to think much more beyond the pure carnal release involved with a quick shag.  
  
Harry put his arm around Ron and closed his teeth on Ron's earlobe. "I'll want to," he said, his voice low and promising. "Some things will never change." He breathed into Ron's ear, his tongue darting inside causing a frisson of pleasure in Ron despite himself.   
  
"So you say," Ron said huskily.  
  
Harry snorted, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and Apparated away. Ron pressed the flat of his fingers at the warm spot on his cheek before thinking of the house at Sandaig. With a _crack!_ he vanished.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The wind ripped at Ron's hair and rain splattered his face as he flew, streaking through the inky sky before diving like an arrow shot from an overhanging cloud. He spun and looped upwards, relishing the drops as they battered his face and clothes. The cold and wet didn't bother him, and the inclement weather meant the few Muggles would be staying indoors. He was still adjusting to the feel of the broom — he'd borrowed Harry's old Comet VIII that was at the cottage — when he noticed a figure sitting on the roof of the house, his location and plaid cape giving the person away. With a sigh of thanks, Ron circled and swooped in, hovering next to Martin who appeared equally unperturbed by the storm.   
  
"I'm glad to see you!" Ron yelled above the noisy elements.  
  
Martin smiled. _You were thinking of me and wished to see me. So here I am._  
  
"Would you like to go for a ride?" Ron asked spontaneously. "I know you can fly, but I bet you've never been on a broom."  
  
"Can't say that I have. All right."  
  
Ron turned the broom around, adjusting for Martin's weight once the vampire was astride behind him. "You'll want to hold on to me," Ron suggested.  
  
"Have no fear of that!" Martin assured him, grasping Ron firmly about the waist.  
  
"Let's go!" Ron roared, kicking off from the roof. He didn't do anything too daring, though he did head out over the ocean, diving towards its choppy surface before skimming above it, their feet occasionally hit by spray. Martin let out a whoop from time to time, making Ron grin. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he pulled them in a tight arc, feeling Martin clutch at Ron's jacket; sharing the thrill of broom flight nudged away some of the malaise he'd felt from earlier that evening. The conversation with Harry came back to him full force, and he headed back to the cottage. While Martin was obviously enjoying himself, he'd come to talk with Ron. If Harry had been serious about recreational activities before settling in for the day, Ron couldn't spend hours flying, though it was tempting to do just that.  
  
He pulled up to the back door and landed gently. Ron waited for Martin to get off the Comet before swinging his own leg over and holding the broom upright.  
  
"I've never experienced anything quite like that," Martin said, his eyes sparkling against his rain-slick skin.  
  
"Glad you liked it," Ron said, aiming his wand at the door to unlock it. "I'll cast a drying spell on our clothes once we're inside."  
  
"I do resemble a drowned rat," Martin admitted, wringing out a sleeve above the hearth where Ron had started a fire with a hasty _Incendio_.  
  
A few minutes later they were dry and sitting comfortably on the couch, watching the cheery flames.  
  
"So, my youngling." Martin took Ron's hand and clasped it in his cold but comforting palms. "Am I correct in thinking that this has to do with Wren?"  
  
"Wren? Oh, Harry," Ron said, drawing one knee up to his chest. "Yeah. He hasn't been a vampire for long at all and he's already decided he doesn't give a toss about our world anymore. I don't understand it. I don't want to leave everybody I know and care about behind, to just disappear and be a living phantom or something. I still want my old job, as pathetic as that is."  
  
Martin stroked the tips of Ron's fingers. "It's not pathetic. Vampiric blood is a mysterious thing, perplexing at times even for those of us who don't have your additional powers. Your Making has made you more empathic and sympathetic to your own kind. Wren, on the other hand, is much more like us, but with his magic. He's bound to you, and therefore, to your people, but his instincts already point toward a traditional vampire life, if such exists. I didn't know him well before, but it was obvious when I recently saw him that he will prefer to be alone, to stake his own territory, with you as an exception."  
  
Ron looked at Martin, certain he could see the sorrow Ron felt. "So…" he said lamely.  
  
 _Come here, beloved,_ Martin beckoned. As before, Ron curled up on his side, his head in Martin's lap. He didn't feel stupid or childish, thank Merlin, just cared for as Martin rested his fingers on Ron's scalp and gently rubbed his back with his other hand. _You knew there was no way to predict how your Harry would react to becoming a vampire. As Wren, just as he was as Harry, he remains devoted to you, and for that you should be grateful. But you must let him go, to follow his own path, or it will make you mad with grief. I don't wish to be told by anyone, especially Wren, that you've destroyed yourself over him._ Martin moved his hand to cup Ron's chin, turning his head up to look at him.   
  
_The light in you I hope will overpower any darkness caused by the solitude Wren now seeks. Should you **ever** begin to feel the pull of the fire, you must contact me. Do I make myself clear?_  
  
Traitorous tears prickled Ron's eyelids as he nodded, swallowing hard. _Yes. I don't want to die, I just want Harry back. Even though I know I can't have that._  
  
Martin shook his head slowly. "No, fledgling, you cannot," he said, punctuating the quiet of the room with his words. "But you can and should petition for your former job. You cared for the sick?"  
  
"I was a Healer. Obscure hexes— old, sometimes really bizarre and nasty curses that people decided to cast on each other. I was good at intuiting what to do, and in evaluating their magic. It's pretty bloody complicated, the relationship between a wizard or witch and their magic. I was really proud of my skill, to be honest. What about you?" Ron was seized with a burning curiosity about the vampire who held him so affectionately. He'd figured out who Exchequers were, but he had no idea what Martin did with his long nights. He was half certain that Martin would tell him to mind his own business.  
  
"Me? What did I do before?"  
  
"You told me that. What about now?" Ron looked into Martin's strikingly ordinary face, unremarkable save his marble-like skin and luminous pale blue eyes. "Are you a loner?"  
  
"Not as much as some. Like you, despite my Change, many of my mortal traits remained with me. I'm fascinated with money and the power it can yield, though of course it has no sway over me. I've watched currencies appear and disappear. Currently I'm a consultant for a large brokerage firm in London. They don't ask me many questions, and I enjoy researching various companies and banks and helping them invest to the best of their abilities."  
  
"You're still basically a banker?!" Ron said, unable to hold in his laughter. "I should introduce you to my brother Bill. He worked at our massive bank, Gringott's. It's run by goblins. Merlin, I should _take_ you there! You'd be astounded."  
  
"Doesn't your kind have a great fear and distrust of vampires?"  
  
"Yeah, but I may be able to change that." Ron was surprised at the hopeful tone in his voice. "I want to do that."  
  
"Then you should," Martin said gently. "I'm very intrigued by a bank run by goblins. Perhaps in the years to come you'll show me more of your world, if you wish. I'd be happy to invest some of my funds in your Gringott's. One can never have too much diversity in one's portfolio."  
  
Ron scrunched up his face in confusion. "Was that English?"  
  
Martin softly chuckled. "It's investment speak." He leaned forward to brush Ron's fringe from his forehead before placing a lingering kiss on his smooth skin. "You should go back. You and Wren have plans?"  
  
Ron was chagrined. "Was my mind open about that? Sorry."  
  
Martin quirked an eyebrow and twisted his lips in a small smile. "Not to worry. A wave of thoughts came with your wish to see me, nothing explicit. But you should enjoy each other while you can."  
  
"Oh. About that," Ron said, sitting up and determined not to be embarrassed. "You said before that after a while vampires don't care about stuff. Physical stuff."  
  
"Usually that's the case," Martin confirmed, intertwining his fingers with Ron's. "You may have noticed that I feel a connection with you, however. Perhaps your magic saddles you with everlasting erotic desires that mostly ebb away for the rest of our brethren. Even for an adventurous individual, after a couple hundred years most explorations have been pursued, the most kinky or unseemly acts tried, their titillation spent. Some vampires find companions within our kind, or even more rarely, with mortals. Sexual pursuits simply become of little interest, but your magic may cause you to be an exception."  
  
They stood and Martin held Ron close to him. "Don't let the future rob you of the pleasures of the present. An eternity awaits you, but even the millennia are lived moment by moment."  
  
"Are we going to make it, do you think?" Ron asked cautiously, pulling back to gaze at his unexpected protector. "Harry and me?"  
  
"I hope so, for your sake."  
  
At the door, Ron readied himself to Apparate home before noticing there was no car parked on the lawn. "Did you fly?" he asked, newly aware of the wind and rain.  
  
Martin nodded. "I have plenty of time to return to my coffin before sunrise. I'll hope to see you soon."  
  
His cape billowed as Martin rose from the ground and flew off, arms at his sides. Ron watched until he couldn't see him anymore, then Apparated to the flat.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ron listened carefully to Harry's moans and stream of entreaties.   
  
"Yes, Ron, fuck, so good moremoremore, oh gods, fuck."   
  
He sped up his sucking on the hard cock in his mouth and changed the angle of his fingers as they slid forcefully in and out of Harry's tight channel until Harry came with a loud wail. Ron swallowed several times, slowly massaging the nub in Harry's body until he begged Ron to stop. With a satisfied smile, Ron slid up to lie down next to Harry, who had already more than adequately pleasured Ron. Ron rested his head on Harry's chest, listening to his heart as it slowed to its usual, soothing beat, idly stroking his fingers against one of Harry's hips.  
  
"Did you have a good talk with Martin?" Harry asked finally, draping an arm across Ron's back.  
  
Ron nodded against Harry's ribs. "Yeah. How'd you know?" he asked, twisting his head around to look up at Harry, his hair sticking out in all directions.  
  
"Please. I know you pretty well. Anyway, I'm glad. You didn't seem nearly as depressed. I don't want to make you unhappy, you know. But I know I won't be able to stay around like I used to as a mortal."  
  
Ron rolled on his back and pulled Harry over so he was lying prone on Ron, their faces inches apart. "I know," he said, feeling an resounding ache in his heart. There would be so much he would miss of that life, of waking with Harry every night, of the daily companionship he'd been so used to for so long. "I'll feel like an amputee, Harry," he said, berating himself for getting emotionally worked up but then deciding these were his feelings and fuck it all, he was going to say what he felt. "There's something missing when you're not with me. I don't want you to go away, but I know you'll need to. Just come back to me, and stay for a while when you do, and I'm sure I'll go with you sometimes. I have things I need to do here, a lot of people I want to care for. Just don't leave me forever."   
  
Harry shook his head, a sad smile drifting to his lips. "Can't. Don't want to. But this life, the wizarding life here where I can't go anywhere without being recognised, that's over for me. It's a huge world out there, and I'm going to explore it, one night at a time." He scooted up and held Ron's face in his hands before kissing him deeply. "And then, when you're ready, we'll both go."  
  
Ron nodded, pulling Harry back down to him, anxious to have his familiar tongue in his mouth, to seek the hot cavern of Harry's mouth. They kissed deeply, conveying their love and trust and marrow-deep need for each other. Eventually Harry moved away, breathing heavily and a tired expression on his face.   
  
"Close to sunrise," he stated. Ron felt it too, the inescapable call to rest and to darkness. "We need to go to our room."  
  
Moments later they'd dressed in their informal nighttime attire and were curled into each other, the locks and wards in place.   
  
"I got you something," Harry said, trying to stifle his yawn. "I wanted to remind you what you mean to me, especially during the times I'll be gone." He pulled a box off of the bedside table and handed it to Ron.  
  
Ron opened it slowly, looking inside to a copper ring on a copper chain. "What's the engraving mean?" he asked, fingering the band, the language unfamiliar.   
  
"It's Gaelic. _Mo chuisle mo chroí_. 'The pulse of my heart.'"  
  
Ron let out a deep sigh. "Sentimental poof," he said, allowing Harry to fasten the sturdy chain around his neck.  
  
"Your sentimental poof. Sunrise. Sleep," Harry said, tugging Ron down to the pillows. He was asleep in seconds. Ron watched his face relax, the scar on his forehead pale but still visible. He traced the faint lightning bolt with his finger.   
  
"Semper foveberis," he whispered, the phrase from their handfasting bands so very appropriate on the cusp of a great unknown that stretched far into the future. The lulling, quiet sounds of Harry's even breathing drifted over him as he resisted the pull into slumber, wanting to watch him in this untroubled state as long as he could, enjoying the pleasures of the present as Martin had suggested. Finally at peace, a hand clasped around the ring lying on his chest, Ron surrendered to a long, dreamless sleep.   


 

:~: end :~:

_semper foveberis_ : Latin- 'you will always be cherished' 


	14. Epilogue

The first several years Harry was around more often than not. He was at Ron's side when Ron was officially reinstated as a Senior Healer at St. Mungo's after passing his six month trial period with flying colours. He had been gone for a seven-month stretch his third year before returning at Hermione's request to attend a special ceremony. She'd asked Harry and Ron to act as co-godparents to Dean's and her first child, Abigail Marian Granger-Thomas. Ron had held the beautiful, squirming toffee-skinned infant, uncertain whether or not his anger would return when so brazenly confronted with evidence of an experience he was unable to share with Harry. Instead, he was filled with gratitude and happiness for his dearest of friends, and honoured to be asked to fulfill such an important role. So many people had survived the War and now thrived; most days Ron felt consolation in knowing that he would be able to see the next generation grow up in a world of peace. Five years after his Change, Ron came up with an unorthodox but compelling idea. He told Harry about it and after his bondmate literally fell on the floor in laughter, Ron decided to enact it straight away. October became Blood Awareness month at St. Mungo's; individuals could pay to have Ron drink from them, allowing the public to know what the sensation felt like. In return, Ron donated all of the proceeds to bloodcurdle research, a disease that remained close to Ron's heart since both Percy as a child and Harry as an adult had nearly died of it.   
  
At the ten year mark, Harry came back to Glasgow for several months. He'd been travelling in Scandinavia for the most part before becoming part of an intimate coven near Reykjavík, having found a geography in which he felt truly at home. He and Ron were Xavier's loudest supporters at the several Hogwarts Quidditch matches they attended. Xavier modestly reveled in his title as Hufflepuff's most outstanding Keeper in a half-century. Under his breath Harry called Percy 'Arthur Jr.,' as Percy really did resemble him, at least how Ron's dad had appeared when Harry and Ron had been in school themselves. Arthur and Molly still had red hair, though the white was threatening to overtake it. Both Fred and George had married and sired several children apiece, forming their own brood, and while Ron knew his mum was overjoyed at being a grandmother, the twins' infants and children nearly all shared their fathers' mischievous streaks.   
  
In late October of 2021, Harry asked Ron to spend at least a year with him over in Iceland. "You deserve a holiday," he insisted. "And I've been missing you more keenly lately. I have so many things there I want to show you— please think about it."  
  
Ron didn't need to think at all; he'd gotten used to living alone during the long periods of time that Harry was absent, but he welcomed the invitation to spend time with his partner. He still wore his copper ring around his neck; it was a focus of romantic intrigue to some of the teenage witches who participated in the Blood Awareness event. Harry and his life up until his Changing was studied in schools; there were even a couple of barely-authorised biographies that stayed on the best-seller list for years. To the witches who swooned as Ron drank from them, however, it was Ron who was the most compelling, a tragic romantic who let his lover go and yet remained faithful to him. He did his level best to dissuade such lunatic affectations. He and Harry were who they were, and the thought of being fodder for a fifteen year old witch's erotic awakening and intrigue made Ron a bit ill. Even he, however, couldn't resist sending a couple of manga collections about the two of them to his partner. For whatever reason, their relationship and turning into vampires proved to be exceedingly popular in wizarding Japan. There was no shortage of illustrated yaoi which was very detailed and amused Harry to no end.  
  
Ron arranged for a sabbatical from St. Mungo's, agreeing to spend at least some of his time doing some research, primarily on wizarding bloodlines but also investigating some myth-worthy creatures that purportedly existed on the geologically active isolated island. After spending the Christmas holidays with his parents and extended family, Ron packed two trunks of things he thought he might want around him and went to the London international portkey terminal to go to Reykjavík. Harry met him; Ron had been the only wizard going further north on that day, so their reunion after Ron produced the necessary documentation and passport was a particularly intimate one. Thankfully Ron's libido held itself in check during the long pauses in their relationship; it wasn't an on and off switch, exactly, more like a heating charm that rekindled without thought once they were in each other's physical proximity and then dimmed when they were apart. Perhaps due to the fact that they would be living together again for some time the arousal in Ron flamed far more quickly than it had in recent memory, warming his senses with a delightfully slow burn.  
  
"Happy belated Christmas," Ron said, hugging Harry in the nearly empty terminal.  
  
"Oh! Forgot about the holiday," Harry replied. "How's your family?"  
  
"Doing pretty well." They began walking toward the exit. "Everybody says hello."  
  
Once outside, Ron turned to look at the building and saw instead a pile of volcanic rock with a silver antenna sticking out of it.  
  
"It's probably unnecessary," Harry said in reference to the cloaking disguise. "The Muggles don't come out here very often and honestly, there aren't all that many magical people. They've almost all come from other places, but there are a few natives."  
  
Ron nodded, looking up at the boundless black sky above them, a wide swath of stars glittering from horizon to horizon. In the midst of the bright pinpricks of light, Ron could make out flickering waves of colour, shimmering green, chartreuse and yellow.  
  
"What on Merlin's beard is that?" he asked, awestruck.  
  
"Aurora borealis. Pretty amazing, eh?"  
  
"That's one way to put it. Are they there a lot?"   
  
"A fair amount, this time of year. Let's go." Harry launched himself up in the air and began heading off over the snow-covered terrain.  
  
"Oh." Ron hadn't practised the flying part of being a vampire very much, content as he was to travel in the ways he had prior to his Change. With some concentration he hovered above the ground before he achieved some altitude and speed. After almost an hour of flying, Harry looked over at Ron, got a pensive look, then tapped his temple.  
  
"Right." Ron opened his mind to Harry, who smiled in response.  
  
 _We should land here and side-along Apparate to my house. It's pretty isolated, but I like to keep as low a profile as possible.  
  
Understood._  
  
Once grounded again, Harry pulled Ron in for a deep, closed-mouth kiss. _I'm so glad you're here.  
  
Me too._  
  
A couple of hours later they were in a natural thermal pool, the temperature near scalding. Like the cold, the heat barely affected Ron externally. The sensation was pleasant enough, though. He sat on a stone shelf, Harry between his legs with his back against Ron's chest. Ron couldn't keep his hands off of Harry. It was his own homecoming, being able to rub Harry's arms and shoulders, to splay his hands on his muscled thighs and in toward his groin. Harry made a pleased humming sound as Ron let his fingers drift toward Harry's soft sacs and slowly awakening cock.  
  
 _Do you spend a lot of time out here?_ Ron asked, gently caressing the stiffening flesh.  
  
 _It depends. I've actually been doing a lot of writing. Poetry. I sat in on some classes at the Muggle university and I'm pretty nearly fluent in Icelandic now._  
  
A wave of unrecognisable words filled Ron's thoughts as Harry spoke to him in the odd language.  
  
 _Guess you should teach me,_ Ron said, leaning his head down to rub his nose in Harry's hair.  
  
 _Haven't you found that you learn things more quickly as a vampire?_ Harry asked, shifting his hips so Ron could wrap his hand around Harry's erection. Harry tilted his head back to nuzzle Ron's jaw.  
  
 _Yeah, I guess so. As nice as this is, I think we should get out of the water and into your bedroom. It's been ages and being around you again makes me want you so much._ He slid his hand up and down Harry's length and Harry groaned aloud.  
  
"Excellent idea."  
  
They got out of the thermal pool, steam rising from their skin as they walked the short distance to Harry's house. It had belonged to a very elderly woman, whom Harry claimed and buried before taking the house and land for himself. He'd cast a confundus around the property to keep away any potential Muggle buyers or intrepid outdoor trekkers, especially during the summer when he was forced into a nearby cave for weeks on end as there was almost no night. Once inside, Harry started a fire and they padded into Harry's large bedroom.  
  
"For me?" Ron asked, gesturing at the wide bed with a heavy comforter and thick fur rug on the floor.   
  
"For us." Harry wrapped his arms around Ron's waist and lifted his head to place his lips on Ron's. The kiss was deep and made long-latent heat coil and smoulder in Ron's groin. Their tongues slid against each other, rediscovering familiar patterns as the kiss grew more intense and Harry began biting at Ron's lips. Ron slid his hands down to massage Harry's backside, their cocks pressed against each other as Harry ground his hips into Ron's pelvis.  
  
"Gods, Harry," Ron moaned. "I wish there were two of you. You could be in me and under me at the same time."  
  
Harry laughed, his baritone voice husky with arousal. "We have all the time in the world to do everything we want to try. But one of me is enough, I hope." He kissed the wren tattoo Ron had had inked below his left collarbone, curving his hands to clench Ron's arse. "I want you to fuck me from behind, standing up," Harry said, moving a hand around to hold their erections together. "I'll put some handles on the wall."  
  
"You'll need them, the way I'm going to pound into you," Ron warned, arching into Harry's touch.  
  
"Lucky me," Harry purred into Ron's ear. " _Accio_ wand."  
  
A quick spell later, a pair of bronze handles jutted from the wall, a shoulder's width apart. Harry looked dreamily at them, and back at Ron.  
  
"Not just yet," Ron said, claiming Harry's mouth with a fervent kiss. "I want to taste you, enjoy you for a while first." He sank down onto the plush rug, tugging Harry down with him. "On your knees, Harry."  
  
"Merlin, Ron, I've missed you," Harry sighed, apparently only too happy to comply with Ron's demands.   
  
"Turn around."  
  
Ron took his time licking and sucking a path up the inside of Harry's thighs, shivering himself when he saw how Harry's body reacted to his touch. Ron missed the scents that they'd had when mortal, but a shadow of them still lingered. Eyes focused on Harry's arse, Ron sat on his heels and with his thumbs parted the porcelain skin, revealing the hidden puckered opening.   
  
"Oh Harry," he whispered before moving in to lick at the slightly furred skin. He tormented Harry, thrusting his tongue in and out and then down to draw in his heavy sacs one at a time, rolling them in his mouth. Harry pushed against him, speaking a litany of thankful profanity until he became unexpectedly quiet. Ron moved away from the slick skin to peer around Harry's hip, only to see the erotic sight of Harry's forehead on the fur, sucking a small amount of blood from his own wrist while Ron rimmed him.  
  
"So perfect," Ron said, resting his forehead against Harry's arsecheek, newly aware of just how hard his own cock was and how much he wanted to be buried in Harry's body.  
  
 _Open to me,_ Harry pleaded, and Ron did, widening his thoughts so Harry knew Ron's fast pulse, his throbbing arousal. _Need you to fuck me._  
  
A jar of something came careening through the doorframe and nudged at Ron's hand. He unscrewed it and liberally coated his cock, seeing Harry's eyes dilate with lust at the slick sound. Harry stood up, pulling Ron with him, and walked purposefully toward the wall, holding the handles in a tight grip and standing with his legs apart. _Now, Ron. Take me hard.  
_  
He was happy to oblige. Ron pulled on his own shaft for a little bit, enjoying the feel of the hardness in his hand. He simply didn't even think about himself as being sexual anymore unless they were together, but now he relished the sensations and the mounting pressure in his sacs. He guided the head, slick with his own fluid and lubricant, to Harry's clenching hole and pushed inside. Harry leaned into it, moaning as Ron thrust as far as he could until he was pressed fully against his bondmate.  
  
 _Do it, Ron, so deep inside me, make me feel split open. I've wanted you inside me since you got here. Claim me.  
  
You're mine,_ Ron vowed, pulling out and thrusting back until he was balls deep inside Harry. Again and again, one hand sharing a handle with Harry, the other fisting Harry's steely hard cock, Ron fucked him, telling him with unspoken words how much he loved and missed him. Without thinking first, he sank his teeth into Harry's neck, pistoning into Harry's hot channel as Harry's blood shot into his mouth.  
  
"Fuck, Ron!" Harry shouted, his skin slapping against Ron's as he used the handles for leverage against Ron's savage assault. Ron could tell Harry was close to coming as he began ramming himself against Ron in earnest. "Ron, Ron, loveyousobigfuckmefuckmedrinkmeRon," he babbled before yelling an incoherent, almost wounded sound as Ron felt warm liquid spill over his fingers.  
  
"Harry," Ron groaned into Harry's neck, mouthing and lapping at the punctures to heal them. His orgasm pulsed out of him and he slowed the thrusting of his hips, feeling Harry tighten his muscles far inside himself. Ron whimpered at the intimate hold on his erection, now spent but still stiff.  
  
"Love you so much," Harry panted, dropping his head back to loll on Ron's shoulder. "Gods has it been a while."  
  
"We don't have to be apart," Ron reminded him, trying to keep the melancholy out of his voice, focusing on Harry's shaft, now softening in his hand, and the temporary musky smell of sex that enfolded them like a well-worn blanket.   
  
_I know, but most of the time that's what I need, at least for now. We'd be able to find each other quickly if we needed to, I just know it,_ Harry said. He swayed his hips slightly from side to side, apparently drawing out the sensations of Ron filling him.   
  
_After a bit of a rest I want you to make love to me,_ Ron said, kissing the feathers of Harry's phoenix tattoo. He let go of Harry's cock and brought his hand to his lips, licking off the salty, bittermilk fluid as though it were a sacred substance.  
  
 _I'd really like that._  
  
Ron gently pulled out of Harry. He found his wand on top of one of his trunks and cast a cleansing spell as Harry pouted. "What?" Ron asked with a put-on smirk. "You wanted to stand there with my come dribbling down the inside of your legs?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Shaking his head, Ron tossed his wand toward the rug and pulled Harry to him. He was accustomed to living alone, though he carried Harry in his heart so it wasn't as though he ever felt truly solitary. He didn't. Now, however, he felt whole again, grateful that Harry had asked him to be a part of his far lonelier existence.  
  
Harry was privy to Ron's thoughts, and in response, he mouthed gently at Ron's mouth, breathing Ron's air and licking Ron's swollen lips. He made satisfied noises as he noticed Ron's arousal already returning. The reaction was more obtuse and far less needy, Ron's body becoming a conduit of physical pleasure that reflected the deep emotional bond beating far within himself.   
  
_Welcome home,_ Harry said soundlessly, searing Ron's mouth with a bone-melting kiss.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Harry returned to England on an irregular basis. They spent eight and nine years apart at a stretch, but there was so much that Ron was involved with, he didn't feel the burden of time as he had when first Made. During the late 2000s, Ron lived with Harry for not quite a decade, proud and rather astounded at Harry's successful literary career. He wrote under a pseudonym and refused to give interviews, but the Icelandic community appeared to have little problem with that. In 2107 there was a huge event to celebrate Ron's 100 years of service at St. Mungo's, attended by his coworkers, family and friends, and to his delight, many of his former patients. The next several decades were harder, as Harry's visits were often due to funerals. Dutifully at first he returned for them; Arthur, then Molly; a tragedy when George's brilliant daughter Rosalind was attacked and absorbed by lethifolds while doing research in Paraguay. Harry stayed for several years while Xavier played Keeper for his old Quidditch team, the Green Knights, now coached by Oliver Wood's daughter. Ron served as archivist for Harry, keeping him as up to date with people as he could as the newer generations usurped the old.   
  
It was at Charlie's funeral in 2143 that Ron picked up on the nearness of another wizarding vampire, and it wasn't Harry. Harry had been sending occasional owls from New Zealand, apparently desirous of more company but still preferring the isolation of a country with far fewer inhabitants than England. Ron was surprised at the vampire's distinctive presence, and he kept his thoughts closed as he found himself suddenly on guard and protective of his extended family. After the conclusion of the ceremony and reception, Ron tentatively sent out his vampiric telepathy to the other immortal.   
  
_Ronald._  
  
He hadn't heard the voice in over 130 years, but the memory of Charlie's birthday party and a petite Romanian herbologist instantly flooded his mind. _Valerica?_ he queried, though he was certain he was correct.  
  
 _Yes. I'd like to speak with you. Meet me where the cemetery meets the woods, if you will._   
  
After making his farewells to Charlie's children, grandchildren, his remaining siblings and their families, Ron headed to the far edge of the cemetery. There in her European looking robes, was Valerica, looking very much as she had when Ron had first met her.  
  
"You were Made not long after I was," he stated. "Was it Marilena?"  
  
"Of course," she said softly. "She was weakened for several years after Making Harry, but when she was able, she Changed me, as I had always wished."  
  
Ron nodded. He didn't feel particularly close to her, but she had evidently cared enough about the Reservation and Charlie to be in attendance for his funeral.  
  
"Your Harry, he's not with you?" she asked, confusion playing on her features.  
  
"No. Prefers being alone, but we've figured out how to make things work. How is Marilena? She must be ancient by now." Ron had been a bit surprised that Harry had never seemed to care about the vampire who had Made him, but then again, Ron had long ago recognised that he'd probably never know who Made him, and it didn't matter.  
  
"She slumbers in the long sleep," she said sadly.   
  
"The what?" Martin hadn't said anything about that to Ron.  
  
"A time of regeneration, a retreat from this world. Older vampires sometimes bury themselves deep in the earth and put themselves to rest for many years, sometimes centuries."  
  
"How do they survive?" Ron was both horrified and fascinated.  
  
"Their bodies slow down until they are more like statues than living things. Eventually the thirst awakens them, and they rejoin the world. Marilena has been gone for over seventy years. Without her I Made my first one, even as she had foretold to me that I would be driven to do so."  
  
It suddenly struck Ron that he'd not once felt the pull to make another vampire. "Where is she? Or he? Your fledgling?"  
  
"In Romania. I only came to bid farewell to this last tie to my mortal life," Valerica said with a wan smile. "I should return to him. I'm glad to see you are well." She took Ron's hands and kissed the palms. "Farewell." She turned and glided away, her robes trailing behind her as she vanished into the forest.   
  
Ron wrote Harry a long letter after that meeting. He'd slowly been realising that the subtle changes he'd been noticing in himself meant that he'd begun seeing even his own family as mortals and very different from himself. To Ron's surprise, he didn't receive a reply, but he continued not to worry, certain that if something terrible happened to Harry, he would know. He missed him, of course, and sent letters on occasion, never sure whether or not they reached him.  
  
During his two hundred and second year, Ron suffered two crushing blows. Martin sent him a small package, a key and a brief note, explaining that he had grown tired of the world and was going to seal himself away. The key was to his home in Leeds, and he invited Ron to stay there to live for as long as he wished.   
  
_Please don't be troubled, dear one. When I rise from the earth again I will seek you out. You're no longer a fledgling, and while your path has been quite distinct from mine, it has been a joy of mine to be a part of your immortal life. I've written to Wren as well; I hope that you two are able to be together as I know you are far more content that way.  
  
I remain ever yours,  
  
Martin Fawlkes  
_  
On a dismally hot evening in July, Ron found himself consoling a bereaved Abigail, herself a widow, at Hermione's funeral. Hermione and Ron had kept up throughout her long and vibrant life, and of the many people he'd seen move on to whatever adventure lay in the afterlife, her passing struck deeply into Ron's heart. He remained at her gravesite long after everyone else, pondering his future and how empty it now seemed. The moon slowly rose and still Ron stood, wondering if he, too, should crawl down deep into the earth and lie there until all he did was dream. The idea wasn't as abhorrent as it might have been, although he would've liked to know where Martin lay. Being near him would be reassuring during a long sleep.   
  
Harry's presence rang in him suddenly, his vigorous appearance shattering Ron from his reverie, though not his melancholy. He watched across the greensward to see Harry walking toward him, wheeling some kind of two-wheeled contraption at his side. Ron was incapable to tearing his gaze away, though he was troubled that aside from Harry's initial mental contact, he didn't know what his bondmate was thinking. At last Harry stood there, knocking down the kickstand for what was now obviously an ancient Muggle motorcycle. He was dressed in Muggle leather that had been popular a century or more prior and was totally unsuited for the day's weather, his hair pulled back and a serious expression on his face.   
  
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, and the sound of his voice, coming from his mouth right there in front of him, caused a prickling of tears that Ron had thought were long dry.  
  
"Glad you came," Ron said, looking at him, still thirty-one in form though his eyes held evidence of the ages he'd lived.  
  
"It's time to go," Harry said, his voice resonant with compassion.  
  
"Go where?"  
  
Harry stepped closer, putting his hands on Ron's shoulders and opening his mind to him. _Doesn't matter. But it's time for us to be together. Will you go with me?  
_  
Ron thought through his duties at the hospital, of his dozens of grand-nieces and nephews and cousins three and four times removed. With a sigh, he nodded. He'd been readying for this for several decades, uncertain what the future held due to Harry's achingly long silence. _You won't leave me again, will you? It'd be better if I did what Martin and Marilena did, and bury myself if that's what's going to happen.  
  
You feel that way because you've been immersed with mortals for so long,_ Harry said soothingly. _I won't leave you again. That time is over._ He reached behind Ron's neck and unfastened the copper chain with the parting gift he'd given him, now 170 years old. Harry slid the ring down Ron's finger so that it nestled on top of his handfasting band. "Will you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, vampire and immortal, renew your handfasting to me, to the exclusion of all others?" 

  
Ron nodded, emotions welling in him that had been suppressed and deemed irrelevant for so long that he'd assumed they had simply vanished with time. "Of course, Harry."  
  
Sparks of magical energy crackled around them as Ron felt a resurgence of his power, lying dormant during the years of Harry's absence. Their lips met. Warm, deeply-held affection and love coursed through Ron as he allowed Harry's fathomless emotions to wash over him. He clutched to Harry, the happiness at their reunion overwhelming in a manner he'd thought he had forgotten forever. Joyful tendrils of serenity wound through him with each beat of his heart. "Let's go," Harry said into his ear before placing a tender, chaste kiss at Ron's temple. Two helmets and a jacket appeared on the ground."Where on earth did you get this motorcycle?" Ron asked, laughing for the first time in decades. "How do you even get petrol for it anymore?"  
"I have my ways," Harry said with a disarming wink. He pulled the helmet over his head and Ron did likewise before pulling on the leather jacket. "Merlin, it's good to see you," Harry said in a low whisper, his finger tracing Ron's lips.  
  
Ron could only smile in reply, kissing the tips of Harry's fingers. Harry got on the motorcycle and Ron slid in behind him, holding him by the waist as Harry gunned the engine. The motorcycle tore along the ground until Harry pulled it up from the earth with a roar. Harry — his beloved, impetuous, no longer solitary Harry— had flung wide open a new door to their future. As they flew through the air, it seemed to Ron that he'd crossed over this metaphysical threshold. Unshackled and at last at peace, Ron let loose an ecstatic whoop which echoed through the balmy night.  
  



End file.
